UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


The  Old  Order  Changeth 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

THE  HOUSE  OP  MERRILEES 

EXTON  MANOR 

THE  ELDEST  SON 

THE  SQUIRE'S  DAUGHTER 

THE  HONOUR  OF  THE  CLINTONS 

THE  GREATEST  OF  THESE 

THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

WATBRMEAD8 

UPSIDONIA 

ABINGTON  ABBKT 

THE  GRAFTONS 

RICHARD  BALDOCK 

THB  CLINTONS  AND  OTHERS 


The 
Old  Order  Changeth 


A  Novel 


BY 

ARCHIBALD  LMARSHALL 


New  York 

Dodd,  Mead  and  Company 
1919 


COPTRIBHT,   1915,   BY 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

Published  in  England  under  the  title  of  "  Rank  and  Riches' 


TR 


CONTENTS 

THE  SALE  . 
THE  CONTEST     . 
LITTLE  KEMSALE 
THE  SHOOTING  PARTY 
ARMITAGE   BROWN 
HILLGROVE  TOWERS 
A  MOMENTOUS  INTERVIEW 
BARTON'S  FARM  . 
GARDEN  NOTES    . 
THE  HEIR  APPARENT  . 
THE  CHANCEL  PEW 
MORE  GARDEN  NOTES  . 
THE  VOICE  OF  KENCOTE 
SUNDAY  MORNING 
SUNDAY  AFTERNOON     . 
THE  ICE  BROKEN 
EXPERIMENTS 
PERSUASION          .          . 
KEMSALE  RECTORY 
THE  HERONS'  NEST 
RECOGNITION 
HAVING  IT  OUT  . 
Six  MONTHS  LATER 
A  COUNTRY  WALK 


PAGE 

s 
19 

35 

48 

58 

72 

84 

96 

110 

123 

136 

147 

161 

175 

188 

198 

212 

227 

242 

255 

265 

276 

290 

303 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

XXV.  A  DIFFERENCE  OF  PRINCIPLE 

XXVI.  FATHER  AND  SON         ...         . 

XXVII.  THE  PICTURES     . 

XXVIII.  MORE  FESTIVITIES 

XXIX.  THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW 

XXX.  HELP  IN  TROUBLE 

XXXI.  AN  ENGAGEMENT          ..         . 

XXXII.  THE  SYNDICATE  . 

XXXIII.  THE  END  OF  A  DREAM 

XXXIV.  THE  WAR  .... 
XXXV.  THE  OLD  is  BETTER     . 

XXXVI.  THOSE  AT  HOME 

XXXVII.  FAREWELLS          ... 


PAGE 

317 
329 
341 
353 
366 
380 
388 
400 
413 
425 
436 
451 
464 


The  Old  Order  Changeth 


CHAPTER   I 

THE    SALE 

AT  first  sight  one  would  have  thought  that  some  sort  of 
fete  was  in  progress.  On  the  great  stretch  of  level  lawn 
in  front  of  the  house  stood  a  white  marquee,  with  flags 
flapping  at  either  end  of  it.  The  September  sky  was 
brightly  blue.  It  was  just  the  day  for  a  flower-show,  or 
a  Primrose  League  festival,  and  just  the  place. 

The  house  was  one  of  those  enormous  country  palaces 
that  make  one  wonder  what  sort  of  life  those  who  built 
them  can  have  had  in  mind  for  themselves.  It  had  the 
dignity  of  size  and  proportion,  but  little  beauty  other- 
wise. In  front  of  it  was  about  half  an  acre  of  gravel; 
in  front  of  that  a  squared  lawn  of  about  an  acre;  and  in 
front  of  that  again,  on  a  slightly  lower  level,  and  divided 
from  the  lawn  by  a  balustrade,  was  a  formal  garden  of 
a  desolating  ugliness,  covering  about  two  acres.  The  box- 
edged  beds  were  disposed  in  a  vast  and  complicated  pattern, 
and  each  contained  some  plant  chosen  for  the  colour  of 
its  leaves  or  flowers,  and  for  its  low  and  tidy  habit  of 
growth. 

With  that  two-acre  carpet  expensive  ugliness  ended 
and  beauty  began.  The  open  ground  was  flanked  with 
the  graceful  growth  of  huge  beeches,  through  which  the 
carriage  roads  approached  the  house  on  either  side. 
Behind  it  the  woods,  now  just  beginning  to  show  their 
autumn  variety  of  colour,  rose  in  a  wide  amphitheatre,  and 
the  white  stone  house  with  its  many  windows  looked  out 
across  the  levelled  ground  on  to  a  wide-sweeping  expanse 

3 


4  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

of  meadow  and  woodland,  that  ended  only  with  a  line  of 
low  hills  thirty  miles  away. 

The  great  house  not  only  of  a  parish  but  a  county, 
Kemsale  had  been  accustomed  to  extend  its  amenities  to 
all  sorts  of  festive  and  patriotic  demands.  The  marquee 
was  not  hired  for  such  occasions,  but  was  kept  until  it 
was  wanted  in  one  or  another  of  the  buildings,  as  exten- 
sive as  a  village,  that  existed  for  the  service  of  the  house. 
Then  it  was  put  up  by  some  of  the  small  army  of  men 
employed  about  the  place,  and  after  it  had  served  its 
temporary  purpose  taken  down  again,  and  the  grass 
carefully  rolled  and  watered,  so  that  its  billiard-table 
smoothness  should  not  be  marred  by  the  least  irregularity 
of  colour  or  surface.  The  lawn  was  not  even  used  for 
games,  the  ground  for  which  was  elsewhere.  To  keep 
it  and  the  gravel  smooth,  and  to  fill  and  tend  to  the  con- 
torted beds  of  the  carpet  garden,  so  that  at  certain  seasons 
of  the  year,  during  the  greater  part  of  which  the  house 
was  shut  up,  its  design  should  be  coloured,  occupied  the 
attention  of  many  men.  They  lived  by  this  work,  and 
those  of  them  who  had  families  fed  and  educated  them 
on  the  money  they  were  paid  for  it.  Some  of  them 
occupied  cottages  on  the  estate,  with  little  gardens  of 
their  own,  as  unlike  as  possible  to  the  one  that  they 
laboured  six  days  in  the  week  to  tend.  So  that  the  lawn 
and  the  carpet  of  Kemsale  may  be  said  to  have  been 
endowed  with  houses  and  land  as  well  as  with  money.  And 
yet,  of  those  who  had  paid  the  price  of  all  this  steady1 
labour,  that  had  gone  on  for  years  and  years,  hardly  one 
had  ever  rested  his  gaze  with  pleasure  on  its  results, 
though  many  had  done  so  on  the  lovely  stretch  of  country 
that  lay  below  and  beyond.  It  was  kept  up  because  it  was 
there,  and  had  always  been  kept  up.  And  the  scores  of 
rooms  in  the  great  house,  all  richly  or  comfortably  or 


THE  SALE  5 

conveniently  furnished,  the  greater  number  of  which  their 
owners  never  visited,  were  also  kept  up,  and  endowed 
again,  as  it  were,  with  regular  well-paid  service,  for  the 
sake  of  the  few  occasions  in  the  year  in  which  they  were 
filled  or  partly  filled  with  guests ;  and  because  they  were 
part  of  the  state  attached  to  such  a  house  as  this. 

But  now,  at  last,  on  this  bright  September  day,  all  the 
complicated  and  expensive  machinery  that  had  been 
kept  oiled  and  wound  up  through  generations  was  in 
process  of  disintegration.  The  marquee  on  the  lawn 
indicated  festivity,  it  is  true,  but  as  far  as  it  concerned 
the  great  house  it  was  a  festivity  sadder  than  any 
mourning.  Those  who  had  eaten  and  drunk  in  it,  and 
were  now  spreading  over  the  lawn  and  overflowing  with 
admiring  comment  into  the  untrodden  walks  of  the  carpet 
garden,  were  the  birds  of  prey  that  had  settled  upon 
Kemsale.  They  had  been  invited  to  settle  on  it,  and  fed 
and  filled  as  a  reward  for  doing  so.  They  were  to  pick 
it  clean  of  all  it  contained,  and  leave  it  staring  in  its  large 
emptiness  over  the  wide  country  of  which  it  had  been  the 
crown  and  centre,  until  some  sort  of  machinery  should  be 
put  into  it  again,  and  it  should  reflect  a  life  that  might 
in  some  respects  resemble  the  old  one,  but  could  never 
be  quite  the  same. 

Kemsale  was  being  sold  up — lock,  stock,  and  barrel,  as  the 
phrase  goes.  This  was  the  third  day  in  which  luncheon  had 
been  spread  in  the  great  marquee  for  the  benefit  of  those 
who  had  come  from  all  over  the  country  to  bid  for  its 
hoarded  contents ;  and  the  sale  would  last  for  three  days 
more,  with  increasing  competition  and  excitement  amongst 
the  buyers,  as  the  catalogue  worked  slowly  down  from 
the  upper  floors  to  the  valuable  "  lots "  from  the 
lower. 

The  upper  floors — even  the  great  range  of  attics  behind 


6  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

the  balustrade  of  the  roof — had  already  yielded  surprises 
in  plenty  to  the  buyers,  though  few  bargains;  for  this 
sale  had  been  too  widely  known  and  too  eagerly  anticipated 
to  serve  the  bargain-hunters.  The  house,  as  it  stood,  had 
been  furnished  from  roof  to  basement  for  over  two  hundred 
years,  and  the  basis  of  its  furnishing  had  been  the  contents 
of  a  much  older,  though  smaller,  house,  the  place  of  which 
it  had  taken.  In  the  course  of  subsequent  additions  to  its 
stock  of  household  gear,  good  things  had  receded  from 
places'  of  honour,  and  taken  up  posts  of  retiring  usefulness 
instead.  Sometimes  they  had  been  discarded  altogether, 
for  no  more  than  a  reparable  weakness,  and  relegated  to 
lumber  rooms,  until  now  the  long  years  had  brought  them 
to  light  again,  more  valuable  in  their  partial  destruction 
than  when  they  had  left  the  hands  of  their  makers,  strong 
and  whole.  Servants'  bedrooms  had  yielded  their  scroll- 
backed  chairs,  their  mahogany  tall-boys,  toilet-mirrors, 
brass  fenders,  and  copper  coal-scuttles,  which  had  been 
put  into  them  new  two  hundred  years  before,  as  the  ordinary 
furniture  of  the  time,  and  had  come  out  old,  to  enter  on  a 
new  career  as  articles  of  price,  fit  for  the  best  rooms  of 
other  houses.  From  the  broad  corridors  and  hive  of  rooms 
on  the  second  floor — bachelors'  rooms,  nurseries,  rooms  of 
dependents  above  the  rank  of  servants — had  come  a  rich 
succession  of  treasures  amongst  the  steady  flow  of  old  and 
solid  furniture.  The  engravings  alone  would  have  formed 
an  embracing  collection — mezzotints  bought  at  the  time  of 
their  publication  for  a  few  guineas,  kept,  perhaps,  in  port- 
folios for  a  time,  then  framed  by  the  score  and  hung  up 
to  decorate  bare  walls,  and  afterwards  forgotten,  now  sell- 
ing for  scores  and  hundreds  apiece;  etchings  picked  up  by 
some  dilettante  of  the  family  making  the  Grand  Tour,  and 
treated  in  the  same  way — Albrecht  Diirers,  Lucas  Van 
Leydens,  Rembrandts,  Marc  Antonios  amongst  them ;  deli- 


THE  SALE  7 

cate  prints  in  coloured  stipple  after  eighteenth-century 
artists  who  would  have  been  forgotten  but  for  the  repro- 
ductions of  their  work,  now  more  valuable  than  the  original 
paintings — all  these  had  been  the  normal  yield,  and  their 
total  price  had  run  up  to  many  thousands,  though  the  list 
had  been  hurried  through  for  the  sake  of  richer  treas- 
ures still  to  come.  There  had  been  great  store  of  old 
china  too,  lotted  and  catalogued  from  these  upper  floors, 
every  piece  of  it  of  value,  and  some  here  and  there  of 
great  value;  old  cut  glass;  old  clocks;  old  inkstands  and 
trays'  and  writing-table  toys;  old  dressing-table  sets;  old 
carpets  and  rugs  and  curtains,  faded  and  worn,  but  eagerly 
bid  for.  Each  room  had  become  richer  as  the  years  had 
passed,  as  more  important  rooms  had  been  refurnished, 
and  their  superseded  contents  moved  up  to  the  less  im- 
portant. The  things  from  the  upper  floors  alone  would 
have  set  up  a  dealer  in  antiquities  for  life,  and  filled  his 
shop  to  overflowing. 

That  is  the  light  in  which  they  were  looked  at  by  those 
who  competed  so  eagerly  to  possess  them.  They  would 
come  to  be  scattered  all  over  the  country,  and  so  scattered 
would  give  infinitely  more  pleasure  to  their  numerous 
purchasers  than  they  had  given  to  their  old  owners.  And 
yet,  in  truth,  as  each  was  knocked  down  and  its  price 
entered  up  by  the  busy  auctioneer's  clerk,  virtue  was 
slowly  and  inexorably  departing  from  these  inanimate 
things.  They  had  come  together  through  long  years,  filled 
their  natural  place  in  the  furnishing  of  a  noble  house, 
given  to  each  of  its  many  rooms  its  own  character.  They 
had  had  life,  made  up  of  old  memories  and  associations, 
and  that  life  was  dissolving.  However  carefully  and  lav- 
ishly the  house  might  be  filled  again,  it  could  never  have 
the  meaning  that  these  things  had  given  to  it. 

Now,  on  the  third  day  of  the  sale,  they  were  coming 


8  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

down  to  the  rooms  of  the  first  floor,  and  here  there  were 
things  to  be  sold  more  valuable  than  had  beeii  sold  before, 
and  more  bound  up  with  the  intimate  lives  of  those  who 
had  used  them.  A  gong  boomed  out  from  the  porch  in 
front  of  the  house;  the  figures  that  were  spread  out  on 
the  lawn  and  in  the  garden  came  flowing  towards  it. 
With  well-fed  alacrity  they  settled  themselves  behind  the 
long  tables  in  the  ball-room,  while  the  auctioneer  slipped 
into  his  high  seat  under  the  musicians'  gallery,  and  two 
men  in  baize  aprons  brought  in  a  large  mirror  which  they 
carried  round  the  space  left  between  the  tables. 

"  Now  then,  gentlemen,  we'll  go  on  where  we  left  off, 
page  twenty-five  in  the  catalogue :  From  the  Blue  Boudoir, 
Lot  494,  Fine  Gilt  Chippendale  Mirror.  What  offers? 
Oh,  come  now,  I  hope  the  good  lunch  you've  enjoyed  hasn't 
blinded  your  eyes.  This  is  a  collector's  piece,  gentlemen. 
Famous  waterfall  design,  Chippendale's  best  period,  and 
not  a  scratch  or  a  mark  on  it.  Probably  bought  from  the 
maker  himself,  and  been  hanging  here  ever  since.  That's 
better;  but  let's  take  the  business  seriously,  gentlemen. 
We've  got  a  lot  to  get  through." 

At  this  time  a  carriage  was  driving  up  the  long  road 
through  the  woods  that  led  from  the  east  gates.  The  tall 
bay  horses  trotted  up  the  gentle  slope  that  rose  all  the 
way  to  the  house  as  if  it  were  level  ground.  The  coach- 
man and  footman  wore  liveries  of  black  cloth  with  dark 
green  facings.  The  whole  equipage  was  well  turned  out, 
in  a  sober  but  highly  polished  sort  of  way,  as  if  in  the 
particular  establishment  to  which  it  belonged  fine  horses 
and  easy  carriages  were  the  chosen  means  of  conveyance, 
and  not  an  old-fashioned  survival  destined  to  give  way 
to  motor-cars  when  they  should  be  worn  out.  It  belonged 
to  Edward  Clinton,  Squire  of  Kencote,  ten  miles  away, 
who  had  driven  fine  horses  all  his  life,  and  up  to  his 


THE  SALE  9 

present  age  of  seventy-one  had  never  ridden  in  a  motor- 
car, nor  intended  to. 

He  and  Mrs.  Clinton  were  in  the  carriage,  and  with 
them  was  Lady  Grace  Ettien,  the  Squire's  kinswoman, 
who  had  been  born  in  the  house  to  which  they  were  driving, 
thirty  years  before,  and  lived  in  it  the  greater  part  of 
her  life.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  drive  for  any  of  the  three 
of  them,  in  spite  of  the  glory  of  the  autumn  woods  and 
the  softness  of  the  sun-soaked  air. 

Grace  Ettien  was  a  sweet-faced  woman,  tall  and  slender, 
with  features  rather  too  much  of  the  aquiline  type  for 
beauty,  but  pleasant  to  look  on  for  all  that.  She  sat  on 
the  back  seat  of  the  carriage.  The  Squire  was  recovering 
from  a  sharp  attack  of  rheumatism,  or  he  would  have 
been  driving  his  phaeton,  as  he  still  preferred  to  do  when 
he  went  abroad.  He  sat  in  his  corner,  his  white  beard 
spreading  over  his  buttoned-up  shooting-cape,  the  skin 
under  his  eyes  a  little  loose,  but  his  cheeks  firm  and  fresh- 
coloured  still — a  big,  handsome  old  man,  only  a  trifle  out 
of  repair  for  the  moment,  and  by  no  means  yet  to  be 
considered  in  his  fit  place  leaning  back  against  the  cushions 
of  a  carriage  driven  by  a  servant.  Mrs.  Clinton,  although 
her  hair  was  as  white  as  her  husband's,  looked  a  good  deal 
younger  than  he.  Her  face  was  fresh-coloured  too,  as 
became  a  woman  who  had  lived  all  her  life  in  the  country. 
The  Squire  had  been  a  stay-at-home  since  his  youth,  and 
she  had  stayed  at  home  with  him,  although  at  times  she 
would  have  preferred  not  always  to  stay  at  home.  She 
was  rather  short,  and  might  have  been  considered  dumpy, 
but  that  she  held  herself  erect,  even  sitting  in  her  carriage, 
and  had  a  look  of  energy,  both  mental  and  physical.  Her 
face  was  round,  and  very  kind.  Just  now,  like  that  of 
her  husband,  it  showed  deep  concern. 

They  had  been  discussing  the  sale  to  which  they  were 


10  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

driving,  and  certain  of  the  circumstances  that  had  led  up 
to  it;  but  the  Squire,  who  did  not  consider  that  when  a 
thing  had  been  said  once  it  need  not  be  said  several  times 
more,  now  broke  out  again. 

'  Ton  my  word,  Kemsale  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  him- 
self. It  makes  my  blood  boil  to  come  here  and  think  oi 
what  has  happened  and  what  is  happening  now.  I  shan'1 
come  into  the  house,  Grace.  I  don't  think  I  could.  Tc 
think  of  what  it  used  to  be  in  your  grandfather's  time 
and  now  that  going  on  in  it!  There's  only  one  word  foi 
it:  it's  criminal.  Criminal." 

Kemsale  was  the  title  by  which  Lord  Meadshire  had 
been  known  until  he  had  succeeded  his  grandfather,  ten 
years  or  so  before.  He  was  known  to  his  friends  and 
relations  as  "  Kem,"  but  the  Squire  was  much  too  angry 
with  him  to  use  any  such  abbreviation  at  present. 

Grace  Ettien  leaned  forward.  "  Poor  Kem !  "  she  said 
"  I  know  he  feels  it,  Cousin  Edward.  If  he  is  here,  and 
you  see  him,  don't  make  it  too  hard  for  him." 

"  Feels  it !  "  snorted  the  Squire.  "  I  should  think  he 
did  feel  it.  No  man  in  his  position  has  a  right  to  behave 
as  he  has  done.  When  your  grandfather  was  alive  he  was 
the  chief  man  in  the  county;  and  his  father  and  grand- 
father before  him.  Actually — ten  years  ago — the  ownei 
of  Kemsale  was  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Meadshire.  And  now! 
Kemsale  sold  up!  Sold  up!  And  the  Marquis  of  Mead- 
shire no  better  than  a  beggar.  Pshaw!  It  doesn't  beat 
thinking  about." 

He  threw  himself  back  in  his  corner  of  the  carriage, 
He  had  been  talking  like  this  during  the  best  part  of  the 
long  drive,  and  as  the  horses  were  trotting  up  the  lasl 
rise  that  led  to  the  house  the  two  ladies  may  have  hoped 
that  he  had  exhausted  the  subject,  painful  enough  tc 
them,  for  the  time  being.  But  he  still  had  something  tc 


THE  SALE  11 

say,  something  that  he  had  been  searching  for  during 
all  his  long  repetitive  tirades,  that  would  sum  up  what 
he  felt  about  this  startling  disintegration,  that  would  bring 
it  into  the  sphere  of  morals,  and  justify  the  deep-seated 
dismay  with  which  he  regarded  it. 

"  Kemsale  has  been  using  what  doesn't  belong  to  him," 
he  said,  and  his  hearers  knew  that  his  words  had  a  mean- 
ing deeper  than  the  literal.  "  Property  in  his  position  is 
a  trust,  and  he  has  broken  it." 

The  carriage  drew  up  before  the  porch,  as  it  had  drawn 
up  many  times  before,  bringing  its  occupants  to  pleasant 
private  or  semi-public  gatherings  very  different  from  this 
one.  The  two  ladies  alighted  from  it.  The  Squire 
looked  with  pained  disgust  upon  the  litter  in  front  of 
the  house,  the  vans  and  carts  that  were  already  beginning 
to  take  things  away,  and  the  men  who  went  to  and  fro, 
with  no  respect  for  the  sanctities  attaching  to  such  a  place 
as  this,  laughing  and  talking  and  smoking,  as  if  the 
downfall  of  a  noble  family  were  a  mere  incident  in  their 
customary  activities.  The  Squire  had  an  impulse  almost 
of  rage  towards  them;  these  things  were  so  very  real  and 
so  very  important  to  him.  He  got  out  of  the  carriage, 
assisted  by  the  footman.  "  I  can't  sit  still  here,"  he  said 
angrily.  "  I  shall  walk  about  outside.  If  you  want  me, 
I  shan't  be  far  off." 

He  went  off,  leaning  on  his  stick,  without  further  words, 
and  the  two  women,  looking  after  him  for  a  moment,  turned 
and  went  into  the  house. 

With  a  frown  at  the  marquee,  in  which  eating  and 
drinking  were  still  going  on,  the  Squire  made  his  way  across 
the  lawn  towards  the  carpet  garden.  He  had  no  desire 
to  review  that  conventional  hideosity,  but  below  it  there 
were  other  beautiful  gardens,  the  privacy  of  which  might 
remind  him  of  all  that  was  passing  away,  and  solace  the 


12  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

actual  pain  that  he  was  feeling.  But  when  he  came  to  the 
balustrade  the  steps  and  slopes  that  he  would  have  to 
negotiate  deterred  him  from  going  farther  in  this  direction, 
and  he  made  his  way  slowly  round  to  the  stables  which 
flanked  the  house  to  the  west. 

As  he  went  under  the  archway  that  led  to  the  great  stable- 
yard  he  felt  an  additional  pang.  He  had  loved  horses  all 
his  life,  and  as  a  boy  and  a  young  man  he  had  so  often 
trodden  these  stones  with  light  step,  eager  for  the  busy  life 
that  had  its  centre  here.  The  stables  of  Kemsale  had 
been  kept  up  on  a  scale  greater  even  than  those  at  Ken- 
cote,  important  as  those  had  been.  There  had  always  been 
something  interesting  and  exciting  to  see  there,  and  in  his 
youth  he  had  never  visited  the  house  without  visiting  the 
stables.  It  was  the  old  associations  that  had  brought  him 
to  them  now,  rather  than  any  desire  to  see  what  might  be 
going  on;  for  the  Kemsale  horses  had  already  been  sold, 
and  he  anticipated  no  pleasure  from  visiting  the  place  where 
they  had  been. 

The  pang  he  felt  was  not  wholly,  nor  perhaps  in  the 
main,  on  his  own  account.  He  had  been  too  fortunate  in 
life  to  dwell  on  past  happiness  with  the  half-sweet  half- 
painful  longing  which  visits  those  whose  days  have  declined 
to  dullness.  His  own  satisfactions  would  hardly  be  touched 
by  the  withdrawal  of  Kemsale  from  his  orbit.  Nor  did 
he  wince  in  sympathy  with  the  man  who  had  had  all  this 
and  had  thrown  it  away.  As  far  as  that  went  the  punish- 
ment was  just  and  fitting.  It  was  the  break-up  of  an 
institution  that  he  felt  so  deeply,  and  above  all  the  sur- 
prising suddenness  with  which  it  had  come  about.  Ten 
years  of  folly  and  lavish  spending,  and  all  this  state  and 
circumstance,  so  admirably  indicative  of  honourable  condi- 
tion, had  come  tumbling  down  like  a  house  of  cards,  when 
it  had  seemed  to  have  been  founded  on  an  impregnable 


THE  SALE  13 

rock.  If  that  could  happen  where  the  place  had  been  so 
high  and  so  apparently  well-guarded,  was  there  real  safety 
anywhere?  He  did  not  tell  himself  that  his  own  old  line 
was  in  danger.  There  was  none  visible  there,  either  in  his 
own  time  or  in  that  of  his  immediate  heirs.  But  full  con- 
fidence had  been  sapped.  He  felt  the  same  sort  of 
discomfort  that  many  people  must  have  felt  after  the  Titanic 
disaster,  when  they  stepped  on  board  a  great  ocean  liner, 
no  longer  with  a  sense  of  safety  so  assured  that  it  need 
not  even  be  dwelt  upon.  Kemsale,  with  all  that  it  had 
meant  in  this  little  corner  of  the  world  and  in  the  country 
at  large,  had  come  to  an  end.  The  Marquis  of  Meadshire 
had  his  title  left  to  him,  and  very  little  else  in  the  world 
besides ;  and  what  was  his  title  worth,  unsupported  by  the 
land  that  had  given  it  virtue?  Not  so  much  as  his  own 
ancient  Squiredom.  He  found  it  impossible  to  grasp  the 
magnitude  of  the  catastrophe.  It  was  like  a  nightmare,  so 
monstrous  as  to  bring  a  sense  of  its  own  impossibility  even 
before  the  waking.  Surely  such  things  as  this  could 
not  be !  If  they  were  allowed,  then  nothing  could  be  ex- 
pected to  stand  firm.  He  saw  rocks  all  around  him, 
although  for  him  and  his  there  were  no  rocks  anywhere 
within  sight,  and  his  course  was  over  clear  and  smooth 
waters.  His  perplexity  increased;  he  was  very  deeply 
troubled. 

"  Hullo,  Edward !  Glad  to  see  you  about  again.  Pretty 
dismal  sort  of  place  this  to  come  to  nowadays,  though." 

He  looked  up  to  see  the  man  who  was  at  the  root  of 
his  perplexity  standing  before  him,  with  a  friendly  smile 
on  his  face,  and  he  grew  so  red  with  shame  and  anger 
that  the  smile  faded  away,  and  Lord  Meadshire  looked 
down  on  the  ground  in  confusion. 

But  only  for  a  moment.  He  looked  up  again  and 
laughed.  "  Why,  any  one  would  think  that  it  was  you 


14  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

who  was  being  sold  up,  to  look  at  you,"  he  said.  "  Surely, 
my  dear  Edward,  if  I  can  put  up  with  it,  you  can." 

He  stood  before  him  in  a  long  frieze  motoring  coat,  his 
goggles  pushed  up  on  to  his  forehead  underneath  his 
dusty  cap.  The  long  grey  raking  machine  that  had  brought 
him  many  miles  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  was 
still  throbbing  behind  him  with  its  bonnet  open,  and  his 
chauffeur  was  doing  something  to  the  engine.  It  added 
enormously  to  the  Squire's  furious  disgust  with  him  that 
he  should  stand  there  looking  like  a  chauffeur  himself,  or 
at  least  obviously  in  accord  with  the  oily  stinking  machinery 
that  was  taking  all  the  dignity  out  of  progression  in  these 
modern  days.  But  something  in  his  look  as  he  had  turned 
down  his  glance  for  that  brief  moment  prevented  his 
breaking  out  against  him,  as  otherwise  he  would  have  done. 
He  turned  his  back  instead,  and  limped  out  of  the  yard, 
his  stick  striking  the  cobbles  sharply. 

Lord  Meadshire  threw  a  glance  at  him,  and  then,  with 
the  smile  that  was  seldom  absent  from  his  face,  took  off 
his  coat  and  threw  it  into  the  car,  and  followed  him, 
unhooking  his  goggles  as  he  did  so. 

He  was  a  man  of  rather  more  than  forty,  and  looked 
liis  full  age.  He  was  tall  and  heavily  built,  with  rounded 
shoulders  and  long  thin  legs.  His  face  was  amiable  and 
had  once  been  handsome,  but  it  was  blotched  now,  and 
stamped  with  the  mark  of  intemperance.  His  voice,  as 
he  called  after  his  cousin,  was  husky. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Edward.  Are  you  going  in  to  the 
sale?" 

The  Squire  turned  round  sharply.  "  No,  I'm  not,"  he 
said,  and  was  about  to  add  more,  but  Meadshire  broke 
in  on  him:  "Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  want  to  either. 
I  suppose  you  brought  Grace  over.  How  is  the  dear  girl? 
It's  a  jar  for  her,  this  sort  of  thing,  isn't  it?  Still,  we 


THE  SALE  15 

shall  both  be  much  better  off  in  the  Herons'  Nest  than 
ever  we  were  here.  Have  you  been  over  there  lately, 
Edward?  It's  all  finished  now,  and  ready  to  put  the  things 
into.  It  will  be  as  pretty  a  little  place  as  ever  you  saw, 
when  we've  finished  with  it." 

He  spoke  without  a  trace  of  awkwardness,  and  as  if  lie 
were  quite  unaware  of  the  antagonism  that  was  seeking  an 
outlet  in  his  cousin's  mind.  They  were  walking  slowly 
along  the  path  that  bordered  the  lawn  towards  the  south. 

"  The  Herons'  Nest !  "  said  the  Squire  contemptuously. 
"  A  cottage  suitable  for  an  artist  or  some  such  fellow,  and 
all  you've  got  left  out  of  all  this !  " 

Meadshire  would  not  let  him  go  on.  "  Well,  if  you 
come  to  that,"  he  said,  in  the  same  easy  tone,  "  I  think 
it  will  be  a  precious  sight  nicer  to  live  in  than  all  this." 
They  had  come  to  the  balustrade  overlooking  the  carpet 
garden.  "  Look  at  it,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  All  that  ugly 
nonsense  has  been  kept  up  for  years  and  years,  at  a  vast 
expense,  and  what  good  is  it  to  anybody?  We  shall 
have  a  garden  we  can  make  something  of  in  the  Herons' 
Nest." 

"  The  new  toy !  "  snorted  the  Squire.  "  And  how  long 
will  you  keep  it,  I  wonder?  At  your  rate,  you'd  eat  it  up 
in  a  day,  if " 

"  If!  "  Meadshire  caught  him  up  quickly.  "  There  are 
two  very  big  ifs,  my  dear  Edward,  in  the  way  of  my  eating 
it  up.  The  first  is,  as  you  know  quite  well,  that  it  belongs 
to  Grace,  and  not  to  me,  and  the  second  is  that  I've  turned 
over  an  entirely  new  leaf." 

The  Squire  was  getting  more  and  more  incensed  against 
him.  "  How  many  does  that  make,  I  wonder?  "  he  asked 
bitterly. 

"  I  don't  know.  About  the  hundred  and  fiftieth,  I  should 
think.  But  the  others  have  all  had  this  absurd  place 


16  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

hanging  on  to  them.  Now,  at  last,  I've  got  rid  of  it 
there'll  be  a  different  state  of  things  altogether." 

The  Squire  stopped  and  regarded  him  from  under  heavy 
frowning  white  brows.  "  I  sometimes  think  you've  got  no 
sense  of  right  and  wrong  at  all,"  he  said.  "  You  talk  as 
if  you  had  nobody  but  yourself  to  think  of,  and  your 
place  in  the  world  were  nothing.  Kemsale  has  gone  on 
for  hundreds  of  years,  and  every  man  that  has  held  it 
has  played  his  big  part  here.  And  now  you — you,  with 
your  selfish  ways' — you've  thrown  it  away,  and  talk  of  it 
as  if  it  were  nothing.  Bah !  You  make  me  feel  positively 
sick,  Kemsale." 

Meadshire  became  a  little  more  serious.  "  Now  look 
here,  Edward,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  you've  got  to  look  facts 
in  the  face.  I've  played  the  fool;  yes,  I  know.  But  I've 
had  a  run  for  my  money,  anyhow.  You  talk — you  always 
have  talked — as  if  I'd  come  in  for  a  magnificent  property 
and  chucked  it  all  away  in  a  few  years.  You  know  very 
well  that  I  came  in  for  a  white  elephant.  If  I  had  lived 
here  at  Kemsale  as  quietly  as  my  old  grandfather  did 
when  he  was  over  eighty  I  could  just  have  kept  the  place 
together  and  no  more." 

"  At  any  rate  you  would  have  kept  the  place  together, 
as  it  was  your  duty  to  do;  and  you  might  have  played 
the  part  that  your  grandfather  played,  and  played  so  well. 
Instead  of  which " 

"  Instead  of  which  I  go  about  stealing  ducks.  Yes,  I 
know  all  that.  And  I  tell  you  I  couldn't  have  played 
the  part  my  grandfather  did,  even  if  I'd  wanted  to.  The 
fact  is  that  he  skinned  the  place,  and  you  know  it  per- 
fectly well.  I'm  not  blaming  the  old  boy.  He  spent  his 
money  in  the  very  way  that  suited  him — cutting  a  big 
figure,  and  all  that.  You  could  do  that  on  land,  and  land 
only,  when  he  was  a  young  man,  and  you  couldn't  when 


THE  SALE  17 

he  was  an  old  one.  We've  had  nothing  but  land,  and 
that  sort  of  thing  was  bound  to  come  to  an  end  sooner 
or  later.  It  came  to  an  end  with  him.  Who  raised  the 
first  mortgage  on  Kencote  ?  Eh  ?  " 

The  Squire  made  no  reply  to  this  question,  but  looked 
on  the  ground  in  his  turn.  There  came  before  him 
things  that  he  never  willingly  thought  of.  He  had  been 
brought  up  at  Kencote  by  his  grandfather,  a  man  who 
had  thought  about  little  but  sport,  and  in  spite  of  his 
wealth  and  long  descent  had  chosen  to  live  the  life  of  a 
plain  country  Squire.  His  grandfather's  sister  had 
married  the  Marquis  of  Meadshire,  and  the  present 
Marquis's  grandfather  was  her  son.  During  his  boyhood 
Edward  Clinton  had  been  taught  to  regard  Kemsale  as 
something  very  stately  and  very  honourable,  but  only 
accidentally  allied  to  the  more  modest  pretensions  of  such 
a  house  as  Kencote.  In  his  youth  he  had  mixed  more  with 
the  great  world  than  his  grandfather  had  ever  done,  and 
the  sense  of  a  considerable  difference  had  lessened.  But 
there  had  always  remained  the  feeling  that  his  cousin  was 
a  great  man,  with  the  sort  of  social  greatness  that  he 
himself  best  understood,  and  it  had  come  as  a  great  shock 
to  him,  not  many  years  before  that  cousin's  death,  to 
be  asked  to  lend  his  assistance  in  raising  money  for  him  on 
Kemsale.  He  himself  had  inherited  money  from  more 
than  one  source,  but  he  had  looked  upon  it  all  as  attaching 
to  Kencote  and  its  wide  lands.  He  hated  to  think  of 
Kencote,  which  had  supported  the  Clintons  in  their  modest 
state  for  generations,  being  bolstered  up  by  money  from 
outside,  and  the  knowledge  that  Kemsale,  which  was  not 
so  bolstered  up,  could  no  longer  support  its  more  elaborate 
state  was  a  painful  and  disturbing  thought. 

He  shook  himself  free  of  it.  "  A  mortgage  is  nothing," 
he  said.  "  It's  your  criminal  folly  that  has  brought  this 


18  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

about.     You  ought  to  have  thought  of  the  line.     You  ought 
to  have  married  long  ago." 

Meadshire's  face  changed.  "  Oh,  that's  another  ques- 
tion altogether,"  he  said.  "  We  won't  go  into  that  now. 
Well,  I  think  I'll  look  in  and  see  how  things  are  going. 
I  hear  they're  getting  record  prices.  I'd  no  idea  there 
was  such  a  lot  of  stuff  in  the  house.  Hullo!  Here's 
Grace !  Well,  my  dear,  have  you  got  the  things  you  want?  " 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  CONTEST 

LADY  GRACE  came  quickly  over  the  lawn  towards  them. 
She  smiled  when  she  saw  her  brother.  "  I  didn't  know 
you  were  here,  Kern,"  she  said.  "  Cousin  Edward,  tHy 
are  bidding  the  things  up  in  an  extraordinary  way.  We 
have  been  able  to  get  nothing  we  decided  upon  yet.  I 
want  you  to  tell  the  man  to  go  higher  still  for  some 
that  are  coming.  The  limits  we  gave  him  are  not 
enough." 

One  of  Meadshire's  crowning  follies  had  been  to  raise 
money  upon  a  Bill  of  Sale,  which  had  included  everything 
that  the  house  contained  at  the  time.  It  had  been  for 
a  large  sum,  but  not  nearly  so  large  as  the  treasures  of 
Kemsale  were  still  worth,  even  with  the  most  valuable  of 
them  already  sold  by  their  owner.  Edward  Clinton  had 
advanced  money  to  clear  off  the  Bill  of  Sale,  so  that 
his  cousin  might  at  least  get  the  benefit  of  the  open  market. 
But  the  arrangement  had  been  made  hurriedly  at  the 
last  moment,  and  instead  of  withdrawing  the  things  he 
and  his  sister  had  wanted  to  keep  Meadshire  had  let  them 
go  in  with  all  the  rest.  It  may  have  been  part  of  the 
turning  over  of  that  new  leaf,  of  which  he  had  spoken, 
that  had  led  him  to  do  so.  "  They  are  yours  up  to  a 
certain  value,"  he  had  said  to  his  cousin.  "  If  we  see 
that  they  are  likely  to  fetch  a  good  deal  more,  we  can  buy 
back  more.  If  not,  we'll  do  with  a  few.  You've  been 
very  good,  Edward;  but  I  don't  want  you  to  give  me  the 
things," 

19 


20  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

And,  indeed,  there  had  been  a  sort  of  pride  and  inde- 
pendence in  his  spendthrift  career.  He  had  probably  never 
asked  a  friend  to  lend  him  money;  he  had  certainly  never 
asked  Edward  Clinton,  who  was  his  sister's  trustee,  and 
a  strict  and  rigid  one.  The  Squire  had  made  the  offer 
about  the  Bill  of  Sale,  and  Meadshire  had  accepted  it  as 
a  business  arrangement,  and  for  his  sister's  benefit  as 
well  as  his  own.  The  things  she  would  want  could  be 
bought  in  too.  It  would  only  be  making  two  bites  at  a 
cherry  to  have  them  valued  and  withdrawn,  and  there 
wasn't  much  time.  He  wanted  to  get  the  beastly  business 
over  and  done  with. 

But  it  seemed  there  was  a  difficulty  about  buying  things 
in  at  any  reasonable  price. 

"  But  we  gave  him  a  limit  half  as  much  again  as  the 
things  were  likely  to  fetch,"  said  the  Squire.  "  The  fellow 
must  have  muddled  it." 

"  There  is  one  man  that  bids  against  him,"  said  Grace. 
"  He  seems  determined  to  have  what  he  wants,  whatever 
it  goes  up  to.  Fortunately,  there  has  been  nothing  I  want 
very  much  so  far;  but  they  will  soon  be  coming  to  my  own 
rooms,  and  I  want  you  to  tell  our  man  to  go  higher  still, 
if  it  is  necessary." 

All  three  of  them  went  across  to  the  house.  Grace  had 
her  catalogue  with  her,  and  showed  them  the  prices  at 
which  some  of  the  things  they  had  marked  had  been 
knocked  down  for.  They  seemed  extravagant,  and  far 
beyond  the  rate  at  which  other  things  had  been  sold, 
although  prices  were  universally  good. 

They  went  into  the  great  room  where  the  sale  was  being 
held.  It  was  as  full  as  if  it  had  been  a  London  auction- 
room,  and  in  fact  all  the  dealers  from  London  were  there, 
or  their  representatives,  and  buyers  from  all  over  the 
kingdom  besides.  There  were  also  a  great  many  people 


THE  CONTEST  21 

from  the  country  around,  and  the  Squire  noted  with  a  frown 
the  presence  of  several  of  his  friends  and  acquaintances. 
He  thought  that  they  might  have  kept  away,  out  of 
delicacy;  but  there  seemed  no  particular  reason  why  they 
should,  since  it  was  to  be  supposed  that  the  more  people 
there  were  to  bid  for  the  things1  put  up  for  sale  the  better 
it  would  be  for  the  sellers. 

A  man  from  the  county  town  of  Bathgate  had  been 
commissioned  to  bid  on  behalf  of  Lady  Grace,  and  of 
the  Squire  himself,  who  had  marked  down  a  few  "  lots  " 
to  be  transferred  to  Kencote.  He  joined  them  when  they 
entered  the  room,  in  some  excitement. 

"  He  says  he's  got  his  orders,  sir,  but  he  won't  tell  me 
who  he's  bidding  for.  I  been  trying  to  make  some  sort  of 
arrangement  with  him." 

"  Who  is  it  ?  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  asked  the 
Squire  impatiently. 

He  pointed  out  a  man  to  whom  a  "lot"  had  just  been 
knocked  down  at  a  high  price.  "  I've  found  out  who 
he  is,"  he  said.  "  He  comes  from  a  very  respectable  firm 
in  London.  He's  acting  under  orders,  but  it  can't  be  for 
his  own  people.  They'd  never  pay  the  prices  he's  running 
up  to.  He's  acting  for  a  private  buyer." 

The  Squire  bent  his  frowning  gaze  upon  the  man.  He 
seemed  to  be  of  an  innocuous  type,  and  rather  nervous 
besides.  He  was  bidding  again,  for  a  little  chintz-covered 
easy-chair  out  of  one  of  the  bedrooms,  and  other  dealers 
were  laughing  at  him  and  running  him  up.  It  could  have 
been  bought  new  in  any  shop  for  two  or  three  pounds,  but 
it  was  knocked  down  to  him  for  five  pounds  ten,  and  there 
was  laughter  and  a  disposition  to  cheer  as  the  hammer 
fell. 

"  Lot  five  hundred  and  ten,  marble-topped  rosewood 
washhandstand,"  said  the  auctioneer.  "  A  fine  solid  piece 


22  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHAXGETH 

this,  gentlemen.  I  won't  have  it  brought  in.  Shall  we 
start  at  three  pounds?  " 

There  was  a  bid  of  ten  shillings,  at  which  price  fine 
solid  pieces  of  this  description  are  occasionally  acquired,  by 
mutual  arrangement  between  dealers,  at  private  sales.  But 
this  sale  was  too  well  attended  for  the  machinations  of  the 
"  ring  "  to  have  scope.  Somebody  bid  a  pound,  and  some- 
body else  thirty  shillings. 

"  That's  no  price  for  an  article  of  this  sort,  gentlemen," 
said  the  auctioneer.  "  Now  then,  Mr.  Waller,  two  pounds? 
Thank  you.  Two  pounds.  Two  pounds.  Any  advance  on 
two  pounds  ? " 

"  Run  him  up,"  said  Meadshire.  "  Let's  see  how  far  he'll 
go.  Go  on,  quick." 

"  Two  pound  ten.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Giles.  Two  fifteen. 
Three  pounds.  Three  pounds  five.  Three  pound  ten.  Any 
advance  on  three  pound  ten?  " 

"  It  isn't  one  of  the  pieces  you  wanted,  sir,"  expostulated 
Giles.  "  It's  not  worth — Oh!" 

Meadshire  had  given  him  a  sharp  dig  in  the  ribs.  The 
auctioneer's  eye  was  on  him. 

"  Three  pound  fifteen.  Four  pounds.  Four  five.  Four 
ten." 

The  Squire's  agent  faltered  at  ten  pounds,  but  the  light 
of  battle  was  in  Meadshire's  eyes.  "Go  on,"  he  adjured 
him,  and  he  took  it  up  to  fifteen,  with  increasing  excitement 
on  the  part  of  the  onlookers. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Kemsale,"  said  the  Squire  angrily; 
but  Meadshire  took  no  notice  of  him.  "  Stop  at  nineteen 
fifteen,"  he  whispered  to  his  man. 

But  Waller,  now  in  a  painful  state  of  confusion,  stopped 
before  that,  and  the  wasrhhandstand  was  knocked  down  to 
Meadshire's  agent  at  eighteen  pounds  five  shillings. 

Meadshire   swore,   and  then  laughed.      "  We've  broken 


THE  CONTEST  23 

him,  anyhow,"  he  said.  "  He  can  have  the  rest  out  of  this 
room." 

Waller  seemed  very  unhappy.  He  was  a  short,  nervous- 
looking  man  with  a  dark  pointed  beard,  neatly  dressed,  and 
of  a  class  rather  above  that  of  most  of  the  dealers  around 
him.  Probably  he  was  a  member  of  the  farm  that  had  been 
entrusted  with  this  important  commission.  His  purchases 
had  already  run  up  to  a  high  figure.  He  did  not  look  like 
a  man  who  would  show  any  resource  in  an  auction-room 
battle,  and  evidently  shrank  from  the  amused  notice  that 
his  exploits  were  bringing  him. 

He  rose  from  his  seat,  and,  looking  round,  seized  upon 
another  dealer  with  whom  he  conferred  over  his  catalogue. 
Then  he  hurried  from  the  room,  passing  close  to 
where  Meadshire  and  the  party  from  Kencote  were  stand- 
ing. 

Meadshire  followed  him  into  the  hall,  where  there  were 
men  passing  to  and  fro  with  articles  for  the  sale-room. 

"Where's  the  telephone?  I  want  to  get  to  the  tele- 
phone," cried  Waller  to  all  and  sundry. 

"  In  that  room  there,"  said  a  man  with  a  green  apron, 
pointing  to  a  door. 

Waller  was  hurrying  towards  it  when  Meadshire  stopped 
him.  "  Wait  a  minute,"  he  said.  "  What  do  you  want  the 
telephone  for?  " 

Waller  started  nervously  and  stopped,  and  then  frowned. 
"  What's  that  to  do  with  you,  sir  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  suppose 
I  can  use  the  telephone  if  I  like?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  can,"  said  Meads-hire.  "  This 
isn't  a  public  office." 

One  of  the  old  servants  of  the  house,  who  for  lack  of 
instructions  had  been  hanging  about  the  hall  in  a  miserable 
sort  of  way,  came  up. 

"  The  telephone  ought  to  be  at  the  service  of  buyers," 


24  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

said  Waller  angrily,  "  especially  of  big  ones  like  my  firm. 
It's  very  important  that  I  should  telephone  to  London.  I'll 
pay  for  the  trunk  call,  of  course." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  telephone  about?  "  asked  Mead- 
shire  again. 

"  I  want But  who  are  you,  sir?  What  business  of 

yours  is  it  what  I  want?  You  seem  to  me  to  be  taking  a 
great  deal  upon  yourself." 

"  Oh,  if  you're  going  to  talk  like  that !  "  said  Meadshire, 
turning  away.  "  You  can  tell  the  gentleman  who  I  am, 
Cooper;  and  he's  not  to  use  any  of  the  telephones  in  the 
house." 

Meadshire  went  back  into  the  sale-room  and  hid  him- 
self in  a  corner.  Waller  came  in  almost  immediately,  and 
as  if  he  wished  to  escape  notice.  He  looked  furtively  about 
amongst  the  crowd,  which  was  now  fairly  thick,  and  made 
his  way  through  it  to  where  the  man  who  had  been  bidding 
for  him  sat.  Meadshire  peered  over  heads  and  saw  him 
giving  this  man  earnest  instructions.  Waller  then  took  his 
place  at  the  table  and  the  man  pushed  his  way  through  the 
crowd  towards  the  doorway. 

Meadshire  went  out  into  the  hall  before  he  could  reach 
it.  "  There's  a  big  fellow  in  a  bowler  hat  coming  out,"  he 
said.  "  H  he  wants  to  use  the  telephone,  let  him ;  but  don't 
tell  him  who  I  am." 

He  went  into  the  room  off  the  hall,  which  had  sro  far 
undergone  little  change.  Only  the  numbered  labels  stuck 
on  to  the  furniture  indicated  that  its  time  for  disintegra- 
tion was  coming.  It  was  rather  like  the  waiting-room  of 
an  old-established  club,  with  a  turkey  carpet,  massive 
mahogany  furniture,  and  portraits  in  mezzotint  on  the  dark 
walls.  Meadshire  took  a  book  of  reference  from  the 
writing-table  and  seated  himself  in  an  easy-chair  by  the 
window. 


THE  CONTEST  25 

Waller's  lieutenant  pushed  his  way  into  the  hall  and  went 
up  to  Cooper  with  half-a-crown  ostentatiously  displayed  in 
his  fingers.  "  I  say,  mate,  I  wish  you'd  put  me  on  to  a 
telephone,"  he  said.  "  No  need  to  tell  the  Governor  about 
it,  you  know.  It's  between  you  and  me." 

The  half-crown  changed  hands.  Cooper  saw  no  reason, 
in  view  of  the  possible  scarcity  of  such  presents  in  the 
future,  why  he  should  not  accept  one  for  doing  his  duty. 
"  I'm  not  sure  there  isn't  somebody  using  it,"  he  said. 
"  But  you  can  go  in  there  if  you  shut  the  door  after  you, 
and  don't  say  I  told  you." 

He  turned  away  with  a  grin,  and  the  man,  thinking  how 
easy  it  was  to  get  what  you  wanted  if  you  went  the  right 
way  about  it,  went  into  the  room. 

He  found  a  middle-aged  person  in  a  rather  shabby  serge 
suit  turning  over  the  leaves  of  a  large  red  book.  "  Have 
you  finished  with  the  telephone,  mate  ?  "  he  asked  cordially. 
"  'Cos  I  want  a  trunk  call." 

"  I'm  not  using  it,  thanks,"  said  Meadshire. 

He  looked  undecided  for  a  moment.  "  I  got  leave  to 
use  it  from  the  people  of  the  house  on  rather  a  private 
matter,"  he  said.  "  You'll  understand.  If  you  wouldn't 
mind " 

Meadshire  looked  up  with  bland  amiability.  "I  don't 
mind  in  the  least,"  he  said.  "Go  ahead;"  and  returned 
to  his  book. 

There  was  something  about  him  that  made  the  man 
hesitate  again.  He  had  thought  at  first  that  he  was  some 
one  like  himself,  who  had  made  his  way  in  here  in  the 
general  confusion.  Now  he  thought  that  he  might  be  some- 
body connected  with  the  house,  and  it  might  not  be  wise 
to  ask  him  to  leave  the  room,  or  indeed  likely  that  he 
would  go. 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  you  won't  want  to  listen 


26  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

to  a  private  conversation,  and  perhaps  you'll  have  found 
what  you're  looking  for  by  the  time  I  get  my  call." 

He  rang  up  a  London  number  and  then  hung  about  the 
room  with  one  hand  in  his  pocket  and  the  other  pulling  at 
his  moustache,  his  eye  fixed  doubtfully  upon  Meadshire. 

Meadshire  laid  down  his  heavy  book,  and  looked  up  at 
him  with  a  pleasant  smile.  "  Things  seem  to  be  fetching 
a  big  price,"  he  said.  "  I've  never  seen  a  sale  like  this 
before.  Have  you?" 

Then  he  must  have  some  connection  with  the  trade,  after 
all.  The  man's  face  cleared.  "  It's  surprising  some  of 
them,"  he  said.  "  There's  a  little  sitting  down  at  the 
Meadshire  Arms  there  of  an  evening  amongst  the  biggest 
of  'em,  but  they  don't  seem  to  have  much  to  work  on.  It's 
the  public  coming  in  that  spoils  things.  Did  you  ever  see 
anything  like  the  bidding  for  that  washstand,  and  that  there 
little  easy?  It's  crool,  I  call  it.  Pos'ively  crool." 

"  I  expect  Waller  knows  what  he's  up  to,"  said  Mead- 
shire. "  He  belongs  to  a  good  firm." 

"  Ah,  now,  that's  just  it.  I've  nothing  to  say  against 
Waller.  I've  known  him  for  a  good  many  years,  and  in 
his  own  line  he's  a  good  man  and  deserves  to  get  on. 
There's  nobody  in  the  trade  as'll  spot  a  fake  sooner  than 
Waller;  or  sell  one  either.  He's  worth  money  to  the  firm, 
and  they  didn't  lose  by  giving  him  a  partnership.  But 
when  it  comes  to  an  emergency  Waller's  likely  to  lose  his 
'ead.  He's  in  an  emergency  now,  and  he  don't  know 
whether  to  follow  instructions  or  use  his  judgment." 

"  I  suppose  he's  been  instructed  to  buy  in  certain  things, 
and  given  carte  blanche." 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  take  such  instructions  if  it  was  me. 
There's  no  sense  in  it.  A  customer  tells  you  he  wants 
certain  things  and  there's  no  limit.  D'rectly  other  people 
get  to  know  that  they  run  you  up  for  the  fun  of  the  thing. 


THE  CONTEST  27 

It's  what  'appened  with  that  there  washstand.  Waller  was 
quite  right  to  let  'em  'ave  it,  but  he  didn't  do  it  in  the 
proper  way.  He  should  have  left  off  with  a  snap,  as  if  he'd 
meant  to  give  'em  one,  'stead  of  as  if  he  was  frightened 
by  'em.  Then  the  laugh  would  have  been  on  his  side,  and 
they  wouldn't  'ave  tried  it  on  again  p'raps.  Then  he  comes 
rushing  out  to  telephone  for  further  instructions,  and  runs 
up  against  'is  lordship,  not  knowing  who  he  was,  and  gives 
'im  lip,  and  of  course  'e's  told  politely  that  the  telephone 
ain't  at  'is  disposal.  I  said  I'd  do  it  for  him.  I  don't  mix 
myself  up  with  no  lordships;  I  tip  the  flunkey  be'ind  'is 
back  and  the  thing's  done." 

The  telephone  bell  trilled  sharply.  He  hurried  to  it. 
"That  you,  Colt  &  Horn?  Oh,  yes,  trunk  call;  put  me 
on  to  them  as  quick  as  you  can,  there's  a  good  girl." 

He  turned  round  with  the  receiver  to  his  ear.  "  I  know 
pretty  well  what  they'll  say,"  he  said,  "  'specially  if  it's 
old  Colt.  Oh—  Hullo!  Colt  &  Horn?  That  you,  Mr. 

Colt?  I'm  speakin'  from  the  sale  at  Kemsale,  on  be'alf 
of  Mr.  Waller.  They're  runnin'  'im  up,  Mr.  Colt,  like 
anything.  'E  wants  to  know  if  'e's  to  bid  regardless,  accord- 
ing to  instructions,  or  exercise  'is  own  discretion.  He's  'ad 
to  pay —  What?  Yes.  Yes.  Well,  he  knows  all  that, 
Mr.  Colt.  But  he  says  the  instructions  were  explicit,  and 
he  doesn't  like  to  go  behind  'em  without  'aving  it  quite 
understood.  Yes.  Yes.  Well,  it  ain't  going  to  be  as  easy 
as  that,  Mr.  Colt.  'E's  just  as  likely  as  not  to  be  run  up 
a  hundred  pounds  for  a  thing  that's  only  worth  five. 
They're  in  that  spirit,  you  know.  If  he's  not  going  to  be 

at  liberty  to  let  'em  in  every  now  and  then What? 

Yes.  Yes.  Well,  I  think  you  had  better  do  that,  Mr.  Colt. 
Then  it  won't  be  your  responsibility.  Righto.  I'll  'old 
the  line." 

He  turned  round  again.     "  He's  going  to  telephone  to 


28  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

his  client/'  he  said.  "  That'll  put  him  right,  whatever 
happens." 

"  Who  is  his  client?  "  asked  Meadshire. 

"Ah,  that'd  be  telling,  wouldn't  it?  But  to  be  quite 
honest  with  you,  I  don't  know.  I  fancy  from  what  Waller 
told  me,  it's  somebody  who's  going  to  buy  the  place  when 
it's  put  up.  At  any  rate  the  things  he  buys  are  to  remain 
here  for  the  present.  He's  bought  'alf  the  'ouse,  as  far 
as  I  can  see." 

"  Well,  look  here.  Tell  Mr.  Colt  that  there  are  some 
things  that  were  left  in  the  sale  by  mistake,  and  the  family 
of  the  late  owner  wants  to  buy  them  in.  If  he'll  come  to  an 
arrangement  about  them  they  won't  run  him  up." 

His  tone  had  changed.  The  man  looked  at  him  with  a 
trace  of  his  former  suspicion.  "  Oh,  you've  got  to  do  with 
the  family  after  all,  then.  I  thought  from  the  way  you 
spoke  you  belonged  to  the  trade." 

"  Well,  this  is  trade  business,  isn't  it?  Go  on.  Tell  Colt 
what  I  say ;  or  let  me  speak  to  him." 

The  man  grumbled,  but  did  as  he  was  asked,  not  without 
delay  and  difficulty  from  the  telephone.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Colt, 
sorry  to  trouble  you  again.  There's  a  cove  'ere  acting  for 
the  family.  Better  ask  if  he  can  'ave  some  of  the  things 
he  wants.  Eh?  " 

He  turned  with  a  grin.  "  Old  Colt  don't  mince  his  words 
when  he's  annoyed.  You  oughter  told  me  what  you  wanted 
when  I  first  got  through  to  him." 

The  end  of  it  was  that  a  message  was  sent  to  Waller 
that  he'd  had  his  instructions  and  was  not  to  play  the 
fool. 

"Did  he  tell  his  client  what  I  told  you?"  asked 
Meadshire. 

"  Yes,  and  got  a  flea  in  his  ear  for  bothering  him.  He'd 
been  told  what  to  do ;  if  he  couldn't  do  it  there  were  plenty 


THE  CONTEST  29 

of  other  people  who  would.  Well,  I'll  be  getting  back  to 
Waller." 

He  hurried  from  the  room,  and  Meadshire  followed  him 
more  slowly.  He  felt  suddenly  angry.  He  had  had  his 
fun,  and  because  he  had  been  intent  on  his  fun  he  had 
missed  his  chance.  Some  of  his  anger  was  directed  against 
himself.  But  as  he  went  back  into  the  sale-room  he  deter- 
mined that  he  would  fight  this  unknown  personage,  who 
seemed  to  have  made  his  decisions  somewhat  prematurely. 

He  was  going  to  buy  the  whole  place,  was  he?  Con- 
found him!  Meadshire  had  already  refused  to  consider 
an  offer  for  the  whole  place  as  it  stood,  which  had  been 
made  to  him  through  his  solicitor.  He  had  not  wanted 
some  rich  fellow  to  walk  in  and  take  possession  of  Kemsale 
just  as  it  was.  His  mind  was  a  swirling  mass  of  contra- 
dictions about  Kemsale.  He  was  relieved  to  get  rid  of 
the  burden  of  the  great  useless  house,  but  prepared  to 
hate  anybody  who  would  take  it  off  his  shoulders  and  pay 
him  for  it.  He  had  already  sold  valuable  pictures,  and 
other  rare  things,  out  of  it,  at  different  times,  received  what 
amounted  in  the  aggregate  to  a  handsome  fortune  for 
them,  and  got  rid  of  the  money  with  a  light  heart.  You 
couldn't  afford  to  keep  family  portraits  that  would  sell  for 
ten  thousand  pounds  apiece  in  these  days,  or  articles  of 
vertu  that  you  hardly  ever  looked  at.  When  the  Kemsale 
tazza  had  been  sold  at  Christie's  for  seven  thousand  pounds, 
Meadshire  had  said :  "  Now  there's  a  thing  that  has  cost 
us  a  pound  a  day  to  have  in  the  house.  Perhaps  I've  looked 
at  it  once  a  year.  That  makes  three  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  a  look.  It  isn't  worth  it."  But  most  of  the  money 
had  gone  to  redeem  past  loans  and  their  colossal  interest, 
and  the  rest  had  been  carried  by  Pickles,  a  horse  that  had 
run  second  in  the  Cesarewitch  instead  of  first. 

There  are  people  who  want  money   for  its   own  sake; 


SO  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

there  are  others  who  want  it  so  that  they  can  acquire 
possessions ;  there  are  others  again  who  want  it  so  that  they 
can  spend  it  on  the  amusements  of  the  moment,  and  with 
these  the  spending  of  money  often  becomes  an  amusement 
in  itself.  Money  burns  holes  in  their  pockets;  they  can't 
bear  to  have  it  lying  idle,  or  even  saved  up  for  an  occasion 
on  which  they  may  have  a  use  for  it.  These  are  of  the 
sort  who  light  their  pipes  with  banknotes  in  the  early  days 
of  a  gold-rush,  or  break  all  the  bottles  in  a  bar,  and  pay 
for  them  afterwards.  Meadshire  would  have  been  quite 
capable  of  performing  either  of  those  feats.  He  had  com- 
mitted many  hardly  less  foolish,  and  had  gained  satisfaction 
from  them.  Nobody  knew  where  all  his  money  had  gone ;  he 
did  not  know  himself.  He  had  kept  race-horses,  but  chiefly 
because  racing  will  get  rid  of  money  almost  faster  than 
any  other  pursuit.  He  had  no  love  for  horses  at  all ;  his 
tastes  were  mechanical,  where  they  had  any  room  to  grow, 
under  the  shade  of  that  vast  obsession  of  spending.  They 
were  hardly  even  extravagant,  apart  from  the  necessity  of 
getting  rid  of  money.  He  dressed  like  a  chauffeur,  and 
not  the  smartest  sort  of  chauffeur  either.  He  had  fallen 
under  the  influence  of  drink  at  an  early  age,  but  he  did  not 
care  for  expensive  wines,  although  he  preferred  that  the 
friends  he  entertained  so  lavishly  should  always  drink 
them;  nor  particularly  for  expensive  food.  He  had  really 
been  at  his  happiest  in  the  early  days  of  motoring,  when 
there  was  always  some  tinkering  to  be  done  whenever  you 
took  out  a  car.  During  this  time  he  had  actually  lived 
within  his  income,  seemed  to  have  lost  his  unhappy  taste 
for  drink,  and  begun  to  look  like  a  young  man  again.  But 
the  phase  had  not  lasted ;  the  ruling  passion  was  too  strong. 
His  father  died,  and  he  inherited  money  that  had  come  from 
his  grandmother.  He  ran  through  that,  and  was  deep  in 
the  mire  again,  when  his  grandfather  died.  Revenues  by 


THE  CONTEST  31 

that  time  had  begun  to  shrink,  but  there  was  more  than 
enough  for  a  careful  man  to  have  played  as  big  a  part  as 
Marquis  of  Meadshire  as  any  of  his  forbears.  Meadshire 
had  no  wish  to  play  that  sort  of  part,  and  it  had  taken  him 
only  ten  years  to  bring  his  house  to  the  ground,  with  nothing 
to  show  for  it  but  a  series  of  follies. 

But  was  he  so  ready  to  give  up  that  place  in  the  world 
of  which  he  had  made  light?  As  far  as  it  rested  on  pos- 
sessions he  laughed  at  the  idea  of  its  affecting  him  in  any 
way. 

But  he  would  have  nobody  living  at  Kemsale,  surrounded 
by  the  family  gods  of  the  Meadshires,  if  he  could  prevent  it. 

The  sale  had  reached  Lady  Grace's  rooms. 

"  The  West  Boudoir,  gentlemen.  Lot  542.  Axminster 
pile  bordered  carpet,  twenty  by  eighteen.  What  bids  ?  " 

Wall  roused  himself,  and  his  re-entrance  into  the 
bidding  aroused  a  hum  of  amusement.  The  carpet  fell  to 
him. 

So  did  the  curtains  for  three  tall  windows,  after  both 
had  been  bid  up  to  more  than  their  sale  value. 

The  Squire  was  now  fussing  and  fuming,  and  the  light 
of  battle  was  in  Meadshire's  eyes. 

"  But  I  don't  mind  those  things  much,"  said  Grace. 
"  It  is  my  writing-table  I  want  chiefly,  and  the  china ;  and 
especially  the  pictures.  I  must  have  the  pictures,  if  I  can't 
get  anything  else." 

"  Lot  544.  Buhl  and  ormolu  writing-table.  Period 
Louis  Quinze.  What  offers  ?  " 

Waller  was  determined  to  have  that.  So  was  Meadshire, 
and  the  bids  rattled  up  without  pause  till  they  reached  two 
hundred  pounds.  Then  the  Squire  made  himself  heard. 
"  It's  perfect  folly,"  he  said  angrily.  "  Grace,  you  had 
better  be  content  with  the  portraits,  if  they  are  determined 
to  have  all  the  furniture." 


32  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

i 

But  Meadshire  had  already  prodded  his  man  up  to  three 

hundred  pounds. 

Waller  got  it  at  five  hundred  and  twenty.  Meadshire 
was  now  furious  and  lowering.  "  He  shall  pay  through 
the  nose  for  everything,"  he  said.  "  And  when  we  come  to 
the  pictures  we'll  break  him." 

Waller  mopped  his  brow  and  bid  doggedly  for  one  thing 
after  the  other,  paying  enormous  prices  for  everything,  but 
getting  everything  at  the  end.  A  sort  of  hush  had  come 
over  the  room,  and  only  the  two  voices  were  heard  sharply 
answering  one  another,  while  the  auctioneer  looked  on  im- 
passively, and  when  the  other  voice  ceased,  knocked  with 
his  hammer  once,  mentioned  Waller's  name  and  the  price, 
and  went  on  to  the  next  lot. 

Poor  Grace  saw  her  cherished  possessions  go  one  after 
the  other — all  the  delicate  pieces  of  china  that  she  had 
got  together  here,  the  water-colours  that  she  loved,  the  gold 
and  silver  and  tortoiseshell  toys  of  a  woman's  pretty  room. 
She  had  removed  the  things  that  had  actually  been  given 
to  her,  her  own  books  amongst  them,  but  all  the  rest  had 
always  been  considered  hers,  and  only  her  scruples  had 
made  her  leave  it,  to  be  thus  haggled  over  in  shameful 
publicity.  Long  before  the  contest  was  over  she  would  have 
given  up  everything  rather  than  go  on  with  it.  All  these 
grinning  open-mouthed  people  knew  what  the  struggle  was 
about  now.  She  stood  in  sight  of  them,  a  woman  whose  shy 
privacies  were  invaded.  And  her  brother  in  his  enraged 
advocacy  of  her  cause  only  added  to  her  distress.  He  had 
moved  up  to  one  of  the  tables  and  stood  over  the  man  who 
was  bidding  for  them,  all  but  taking  the  bids  out  of  his 
mouth.  Everybody  now  knew  who  he  was,  and  regarded 
him  with  open  curiosity.  He  should  have  kept  away  alto- 
gether, in  this  hour  of  his  disgrace.  But  he  was  making 
himself  the  most  prominent  figure  in  the  room. 


THE  CONTEST  33 

They  came  to  two  tinted  pencil  drawings  of  Grace's 
grandfather  and  grandmother.  They  had  been  "  taken  " 
soon  after  their  marriage,  and  showed  a  handsome  gay 
young  man  and  a  sweet-faced  girl,  with  a  look  of  Grace 
herself.  They  were  by  a  well-known  artist  of  the  time,  who 
had  also  painted  the  later  full-length  portraits  of  the  same 
pair  which  hung  elsewhere,  but  hardly  so  successfully.  The 
drawings  had  their  value,  but  it  was  not  an  extravagant 
one.  Fifty  pounds  apiece  would  have  been  a  good  price 
for  them. 

They  were  put  up  together,  and  were  run  up  to  a  hun- 
dred in  advances  of  ten  pounds.  Then  up  to  five  hundred 
with  a  sudden  jump  into  fifties.  The  onlookers  stared 
open-mouthed.  The  bids  had  followed  one  another  without 
a  moment's  hesitation  on  either  side. 

Waller  faltered  and  looked  round  furtively  at  his 
adversary,  as  if  imploring  him  to  have  mercy  on  him. 
Meadshire's  face  was  red  and  scowling.  He  had  pushed 
his  agent  aside,  and  stood  at  the  end  of  the  table  glowering 
over  the  crowd  of  buyers  as  if  he  would  have  annihilated 
the  lot  of  them.  The  party  from  Kencote  were  now  quite 
in  the  background,  hidden  by  the  crowding  mass  of 
spectators. 

Waller  bid  five  hundred  and  fifty.  Meadshire  rapped  out 
"  Six  hundred,"  himself.  Waller  paused  again.  The  new 
voice,  gruff  and  loud,  aroused  a  general  murmur.  There 
was  some  giggling  encouragement  of  Waller  to  go  on; 
but  there  were  more  voices  advising  him  to  "  let  him  have 
'em." 

The  auctioneer  raised  his  hammer.  "  Seven  hundred," 
said  Waller,  before  he  could  let  it  fall. 

"  Eight  hundred,"  came  from  Meadshire,  in  a  voice  louder 
than  before. 

Waller  paused  and  looked  around  again,  meeting  nothing 


34,  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

but  rows  of  faces  with  every  eye  in  them  bent  upon  him. 
The  auctioneer  raised  his  hammer  again. 

"  Nine  hundred." 

"  A  thousand." 

Waller  hesitated  a  moment,  shrugged  his1  shoulders,  and 
returned  to  his  catalogue.  It  was  a  confession  of  defeat. 
The  hammer  fell,  and  Meadshire  pushed  his  way  through 
the  crowd  and  stalked  out  of  the  room,  pursued  by  a  volley 
of  cheering,  which  put  the  finishing  touch  to  his  fury. 


CHAPTER  III 

LITTLE  KEMSALE 

LITTLE  KEMSALE  lay  just  outside  the  village  that  clustered 
about  the  west  gates  of  the  great  house.  It  was  the  great 
house  in  miniature,  built  at  the  same  time,  and  of  the 
same  white  stone.  It  stood  in  a  clearing  of  the  beech 
wood  that  rolled  down  the  hill  behind  it,  but  though  on  a 
considerably  lower  level  than  the  great  house,  of  which  it 
was  a  sort  of  appanage,  it  was  still  above  the  level  of  the 
country  that  faced  it,  and  commanded  a  fine  spreading  view. 
A  soft  sloping  lawn,  much  more  attractive  than  the  flat 
rectangle  of  the  great  house,  divided  it  from  the  road,  which 
ran  under  a  sunk  fence  high  enough  to  preserve  its  privacy. 
It  merged  on  either  side  into  the  russet-carpeted  shade  of 
the  beeches.  Originally  the  carriage  drive,  going  in  at  one 
gate  and  out  at  the  other,  through  the  trees,  had  led  to  a 
door  in  the  middle  of  the  fa9ade,  but  at  some  period  that 
arrangement  had  been  altered.  A  hall  had  been  made  and 
a  porch  added  on  the  west;  and  the  east  drive  had  been 
done  away  with.  So  now  the  gravel  that  lay  between  the 
house  and  the  lawn,  masked  by  shrubs  from  the  drive,  made 
a  pleasant  place  to  sit  out  on.  The  dining-room  on  one 
side  and  the  drawing-room  on  the  other,  with  the  room 
that  had  once  been  the  hall  between  them,  all  had  tall 
windows  reaching  nearly  to  the  ground.  They  were 
spacious  well-proportioned  rooms,  and  in  the  summer,  with 
their  easy  access  to  the  quiet  garden  and  their  wide  south- 
ward view  of  blue  country,  very  attractive.  So  they  were 
in  the  winter,  when  they  were  close-curtained  and  lamp-lit., 

as 


36  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

and  surrounded  by  the  deep  stillness  of  the  country  night. 
In  the  daytime  their  large  expanse  of  glass  gave  them  an 
air  slightly  bleak,  though  they  caught  whatever  sun  might 
be  shining.  The  front  of  the  house  was  much  overgrown 
by  creepers,  and  its  likeness  to  the  great  house,  many  of  the 
points  of  which  had  been  copied  in  its  exterior,  was  lessened 
by  them.  People  driving  by,  seated  high  enough  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  Little  Kemsale,  found  it  worth  looking  at  as 
a  specimen  of  the  small  country  houses  of  England,  which 
are  often  so  much  more  attractive  than  the  big  ones. 
Wistaria,  clematis,  Banksian  roses,  ceanothusr,  and  other 
flowering  or  evergreen  plants  framed  all  its  windows  in 
their  several  seasons;  the  lower  ones  were  provided  with 
gaily  striped  awnings;  great  tubs  of  agapanthus,  azaleas', 
hydrangeas,  pink  geraniums,  stood  along  the  broad  space 
of  carefully  rolled  gravel  and  on  the  edge  of  the  lawn. 
Hammock  chairs  and  wicker  tables  might  be  seen  invitingly 
grouped  there,  and  the  observer  might  sometimes  surprise 
a  tea  party,  half  in  and  half  out  of  one  of  the  open  windows. 
Such  an  one,  as  he  drove  on  along  the  shady  road  that 
curved  round  the  shoulder  of  the  hill,  might  have  found  him- 
self wondering  whether  the  owners  or  inhabitants  of  such 
a  house  were  appreciative  of  their  happy  lot,  or  fitted  to 
enjoy  it.  Those  who  have  that  embracing  taste  for  houses, 
so  that  they  can  scarcely  pass  one  with  any  attractions, 
large  or  small,  without  imagining  themselves  living  in  it,  are 
apt  to  forget  the  Horatian  dictum  that  a  change  of  sky 
does  not  bring  about  a  change  of  mind.  Perhaps  the 
majority  of  those  who  live  in  the  houses  that  they  are 
inclined  to  envy  are  not  appreciably  the  happier  because  of 
their  surroundings.  The  troubles  of  unrequited  love,  ill- 
health,  debt,  disappointed  ambition,  and  all  the  pack  of 
worries  incidental  to  daily  existence  are  not  sensibly  light- 
ened by  the  possession  of  a  beautiful  house.  House-envy- 


LITTLE  KEMSALE  37 

ing,  as  a  pursuit,  can  only  be  carried  on  satisfactorily  by 
imagining  the  mind  permanently  attuned  to  its  surround- 
ings ;  and  it  is  a  pity  that  the  agents  cannot  guarantee  that 
the  amenities  they  have  to  offer  in  the  way  of  peace  and 
comfort  shall  operate  within  as  well  as  without. 

Nevertheless,  there  are  some  to  whom  the  possession  of 
a  house  in  which  they  can  take  a  pride  and  pleasure,  be 
it  large  or  small,  is  a  constant,  every-day  enhancement  of 
life's  interests,  and  at  this  time  the  occupants  of  Little 
Kemsale  were  amongst  them. 

They  were  a  Captain  and  Mrs.  Douglas  Irving,  who 
had  already  lived  there  for  two  years,  and  hoped  to  live 
there  for  the  remainder  of  a  lease  of  seven,  fourteen,  or 
twenty-one  years,  and  longer  still  if  they  should  be  per- 
mitted. They  had  youth,  health,  and  a  sufficiency  of  income ; 
two  small,  naughty,  but  most  engaging  children;  and  tastes 
and  habits  which  could  all  be  gratified  by  the  manner  of 
life  they  had  chosen. 

Douglas  Irving  was  in  the  middle  thirties,  and  his  wife 
in  the  late  twenties.  He  had  retired  from  the  Service 
two  years  before  upon  the  death  of  his  father,  who  had 
left  him  a  fortune  of  between  thirty  and  forty  thousand 
pounds,  after  having  told  him  persistently  ever  since  he 
had  first  mentioned  the  subject  that  he  might  expect  about 
five  hundred  a  year  and  not  a  penny  more.  It  was  about 
what  the  old  gentleman  had  spent  himself,  living  in  rooms 
in  London  near  his  club,  ever  since  the  death  of  his  wife 
in  Douglas's  childhood.  He  may  have  saved  the  rest  until 
it  had  rolled  up  to  the  respectable  sum  mentioned,  or  he 
may  have  amused  his  leisure  with  investments  that  had 
turned  out  luckily.  At  any  rate,  there  was  no  doubt  about 
the  money,  and  Douglas  Irving  could  never  think  of  the 
day  in  which  he  had  learnt  of  what  had  come  to  him  without 
a  glow  of  memory. 


36183! 


38  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

It  had  made  such  a  difference  to  him.  He  had  always 
been  hard  up,  and  had  always  hated  being  hard  up.  At 
school  he  had  had  less  pocket-money  than  other  boys,  at 
Sandhurst  and  in  his  regiment  a  smaller  allowance  than 
his  fellows.  And  he  had  had  no  happy  home  life  as  a  child, 
except  for  the  first  few  dimly  remembered  years  in  India, 
when  his  mother  had  been  alive.  He  had  been  sent  home 
to  an  aunt  who  had  married  a  clergyman  with  a  living  in 
a  poor  London  suburb,  and  little  to  supplement  it  with,  and 
he  had  spent  his  dreary  school  holidays  there  for  the  most 
part,  and  some  of  his  leaves,  when  he  was  too  "  broke  "  to 
amuse  himself  elsewhere. 

He  had  enjoyed  soldiering,  and  especially  the  two  years 
he  had  spent  in  South  Africa,  when  he  had  been  enabled 
to  put  straight  his  already  slightly  dislocated  finances.  He 
had  been  a  very  young  subaltern  then,  and  had  developed 
a  military  keenness  that  had  somewhat  evaporated  later  on, 
when  he  had  settled  down  to  a  pottering  life  in  a  garrison 
town.  Then  he  had  obtained  a  five  years'  billet  as  adjutant 
to  a  Territorial  regiment,  and  that  had  been  better,  for  he 
had  had  more  money  to  spend,  and  opportunities  for  sport, 
in  a  friendly  county.  But  he  was  already  "  dipped  "  again 
financially  when  he  fell  in  love  with  the  only  child  of  a 
lady,  the  widow  of  a  clergyman,  who  lived  in  the  seaside 
town  nearest  to  the  one  in  which  he  was  quartered.  It  was 
an  eminently  suitable  match,  the  girl's  birth  being  about 
on  a  level  with  his  own;  his  father  had  made  no  objections 
to  it,  but  had  offered  to  increase  his  allowance  by  a  hundred 
pounds  a  year,  if  the  girl's  mother  would  make  her  a  like 
allowance. 

It  would  just  "run  to  it."  and  he  thought  himself  very 
fortunate,  though  his  debts,  about  which  he  said  nothing, 
somewhat  dimmed  the  bright  prospect.  He  thought  him- 


LITTLE  K£MSALE  39 

self  more  fortunate  still  when  he  discovered  that  his  fiancee 
had  about  three  hundred  a  year  of  her  own,  and  would 
have  rather  more  than  double  that  when  her  mother  died. 
He  seemed  to  have  come  into  wealth  unlimited,  or  at  least 
to  have  the  happy  prospect  of  furnishing  a  charming  little 
country  cottage  and  living  in  it  in  the  most  ideal  fashion. 
His  tastes  already  inclined  to  a  quiet,  domestic,  country  ex- 
istence, with  as  much  country  sport  to  salt  it  as  could  be 
obtained  on  the  least  possible  expenditure;  and  he  was  very 
much  in  love  with  the  girl  he  was  going  to  marry.  He  had 
loved  her  when  he  thought  she  had  nothing,  and  did  not 
love  her  the  less  because  her  small  income  enabled  them 
to  start  their  married  life  in  a  way  that  delighted  both  of 
them  together. 

But  the  debts  soon  began  to  overshadow  their  happiness. 
The  two  children  came,  one  a  year  and  the  other  two  years 
after  they  were  married,  and  even  without  them  it  is  doubt- 
ful whether  the  scale  upon  which  they  live'd  in  their  pretty 
creeper-smothered  bandbox  would  have  enabled  them  to 
keep  their  heads  above  water.  Beatrix  Irving  had  a  head 
for  management,  but  little  experience.  Their  income  was 
about  the  same  as  hers  and  her  mother's  had  been,  and  they 
lived  in  a  smaller  house,  though  in  a  more  elaborate  way, 
with  much  entertaining  of  men  friends,  and  many  little 
extravagances  such  as  she  had  had  no  previous  experience 
of.  She  trusted  her  husband  with  the  apportionment  of 
their  income,  and  never  exceeded  the  allowances  for  the 
spending  of  which  she  herself  was  responsible ;  and  she 
did  not  like  to  suggest  to  him  any  curtailment  of  the  ex- 
penditure which  kept  him  so  gay  and  happy  that  the  little 
house  was  full  of  sunshine  for  her,  in  spite  of  the  shadow 
that  was  creeping  over  it.  Then  the  children  came,  and  she 
was  too  much  occupied  to  take  upon  herself  the  initiation  of 
a  different  scale  of  expenditure  altogether,  which  would 


40  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

soon  have  become  absolutely  necessary  but  for  her  mother's 
death. 

This  was  a  great  grief  to  her,  and  her  health,  after  the 
birth  of  her  second  child,  was  not  good  for  a  time.  She 
allowed  herself  to  drift  with  the  current,  and  only  mildly 
opposed  the  taking  of  a  larger  house  during  the  remaining 
year  of  her  husband's  adjutancy.  They  had  already  out- 
grown their  cottage,  and  the  house  was  a  very  nice  one. 
If  they  liked  it  they  could  stay  on  there,  for  Douglas 
Irving  had  already  decided  that  he  would  not  go  back  to 
his  regiment.  He  was  very  sympathetic  with  her  over  her 
unexpected  loss,  but  "  in  a  way  "  it  was  "  providential," 
and  with  the  addition  of  the  handsome  old-fashioned  furni- 
ture and  effects  that  his  wife  had  inherited,  and  their 
increased  income,  his  own  genuine  sorrow  was  assuaged  by 
the  inauguration  of  the  new  house,  and  also  by  the  ability 
to  settle  old  accounts. 

But  the  shadow  soon  closed  over  the  new  house,  as  it 
had  closed  over  the  old  one.  There  was  a  stable  and 
a  large  garden  to  keep  up,  to  say  nothing  of  the  nurseries, 
and  not  nearly  enough  money  to  do  that  and  all  the  rest 
with,  unless  the  money  had  been  carefully  husbanded,  which 
it  wasn't.  The  appointment  came  to  an  end,  and  there  was 
so  much  less  income.  They  let  their  house  and  went  abroad 
for  a  year.  Then  Colonel  Irving  died,  all  the  difficulties 
were  swept  away,  and  a  new  and  most  delightful  life  opened 
up  before  them. 

Such  had  been  the  history  of  this  fortunate  young 
couple  up  to  the  time  of  their  settling  at  Little  Kemsale, 
and  perhaps  Beatrix  Irving  realised  exactly  how  fortunate 
they  had  been.  Her  husband  yielded  to  her  in  no  way  in 
gratitude  for  the  change  that  had  now  come  over  their  life 
and  prospects,  and  felt  it  all  the  more  because  his  past 
presented  itself  to  him  as  a  perpetual  and  undeserved 


LITTLE  KEMSALE  41 

struggle  against  adversity.  If  he  had  seen  it  in  its  true 
light,  it  had  been  nothing  but  a  succession  of  generous 
chances  such  as  come  to  very  few  spendthrifts.  For  there 
was  no  doubt  that  Douglas  Irving  was  a  spendthrift, 
although  not  of  the  neck  or  nothing  type  of  Meadshire.  He 
was  of  our  second  sort — those  who  want  money  for  the  s'ake 
of  possessions.  He  loved  a  house  and  its  contents,  and  the 
power  of  adding  to  them.  That  was  the  necessary  back- 
ground of  his  life.  And  he  wanted  money  for  the  sake 
of  opportunities,  not  to  throw  away,  as  Meadshire  did.  In 
fact,  when  he  came  into  his  compact  little  fortune,  he  sud- 
denly became  careful  about  money.  Many  spendthrifts 
have  that  contradictory  faculty.  The  Meadshires  would 
gaily  dissipate  in  a  year  a  sum  that  would  keep  them  hand- 
somely for  the  rest  of  their  lives,  with  no  disturbance  of 
mind  as  to  what  should  come  after.  The  Irvings  would 
never  know  a  happy  moment  in  dissipating  a  fortune,  unless 
they  had  some  hopes  that  another  would  follow  it.  They 
do  not  dissipate  fortunes  at  a  stroke;  they  eat  into  them. 
And  all  the  time  they  writhe  under  the  troubles  of  debt,  and 
are  well  aware  that  nothing  they  seek  to  enjoy  is  worth 
the  price  they  pay  for  it,  or  is  enjoyable  at  all  unless  it 
has  the  quality  of  permanence. 

So  Douglas  Irving  conceived  of  himself  as  having  thor- 
oughly learnt  his  lesson,  by  a  series  of  awkward  strokes 
of  fate,  and  by  long  periods  of  life  in  which  his  enjoyments 
had  been  almost  completely  spoilt  by  the  consciousness 
that  he  was  heading  for  catastrophe.  He  would  indeed  be 
a  fool  if  he  overspent  an  income  large  enough  to  afford 
him  everything  he  really  cared  about  in  life,  when  there  was 
no  longer  any  prospect  of  that  income  being  increased.  Of 
course,  he  could  have  done  very  well  with  twice  as  much, 
and  it  was  necessary  to  be  careful.  But  a  wise  man  cuts 
his  coat  according  to  his  cloth,  and  if  the  cloth  is  long 


42  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

enough  even  finds  some  satisfaction  in  the  process.  Irving 
now  kept  his  accounts  carefully,  and  took  a  good  deal  of 
pleasure  in  doing  so.  He  even  saved  money  every  year — • 
not  very  much,  but  enough  to  give  him  the  comfortable  feel- 
ing of  living  well  within  his  income  and  providing  for 
Jimbo's  education.  His  pass-book  was  no  longer  a  re- 
proach, but  a  beneficence,  and  it  was  exciting  to  enter  into 
an  occasional  little  speculation — always  with  the  "  margin," 
never  with  money  allotted  to  other  purposes.  He  had 
turned  over  a  new  leaf  altogether,  and  shuddered  at  the 
thought  of  the  old  ones;  and  it  seemed  extremely  unlikely 
that  he  would  ever  jeopardise  his  present  substantial  happi- 
ness by  reverting  to  his  old  carelessness  about  money. 

An  extra  piece  of  luck  had  befallen  him  at  the  time  he 
had  taken  Little  Kemsale.  Meadshire  had  suddenly  de- 
cided that  he  would  let  his  shooting.  It  was  part  of  his 
fantastic  way  of  doing  things  that  he  decided  everything 
of.  this  sort  in  a  hurry  and  without  any  reference  to  other 
decisions.  He  would  not  let  Kemsale  with  it,  and  Little 
Kemsale  he  had  already  let  about  a  month  before.  His 
agent  was  in  despair,  and  came  to  Irving  to  ask  him  to  sell 
back  his  lease.  "  How  on  earth  can  I  let  eighteen  thousand 
acres  of  shooting  without  a  house? "  he  asked.  Irving 
refused  to  surrender  his  lease,  but  thought  he  might  help 
him  otherwise.  He  knew  of  a  rich  bachelor  who  was  on 
the  look-out  for  a  shoot;  if  he  took  this  one  he  might  work 
it  from  Little  Kemsale. 

He  ran  up  to  London,  full  of  eagerness.  His  friend 
came  down  with  him  and  surveyed  the  prospect.  Eventually 
an  arrangement  was  come  to  by  which  Fanshawe,  the  rich 
friend,  and  two  others  took  the  shooting.  Irving  was  to 
manage  it  for  them  and  they  were  to  pay  their  share  of 
expenses  whenever  they  and  their  friends  came  down.  The 
arrangement  was  to  be  made  for  three  years.  Meadshire 


LITTLE  KEMSALE  43 

objected  to  this,  but  gave  way  suddenly  when  negotiations 
were  on  the  point  of  breaking  off  altogether. 

The  result,  as  it  affected  Irving,  was  that  he  had  all  the 
fun  of  a  big  shoot  at  no  expense  whatever,  and  practically 
saved  his  rent  besides.  It  may  be  imagined  that  he  did 
not  love  Little  Kemsale  the  less  because  these  sporting 
amenities  had  become  unexpectedly  attached  to  it. 

On  an  October  evening,  about  a  month  after  the  sale 
at  Kemsale,  Douglas  and  Beatrix  Irving  were  walking  home 
together.  They  had  been  to  interview  keepers  about  the 
arrangements  for  the  next  day,  for  their  friends  were  com- 
ing down  that  evening  for  the  first  big  manoeuvre  amongst 
the  pheasants. 

It  was  a  lovely  mild  evening,  with  an  illusive  air  of 
spring  in  it.  They  were  both  in  the  highest  spirits.  Things 
were  going  so  well  with  them,  and  there  was  not  a  care 
on  the  horizon.  And  they  both  looked  forward  to  the 
entertainment  immediately  ahead.  The  house  would  be 
crammed  to  the  uttermost,  and  both  of  them  enjoyed  that 
thoroughly. 

They  swung  along  the  road  at  a  sharp  pace,  chattering 
about  the  coming  pleasures.  Beatrix  had  entirely  recov- 
ered from  her  weakness  of  some  years  before.  She  was  full 
of  health  and  vigour  in  these  days,  and  was  almost  as  much 
in  the  open  air  as  her  husband.  With  her  slim  figure,  in 
its  cleanly  cut  tweeds,  she  looked  no  more  than  a  girl. 
Douglas  was  straight  and  spare  too,  and  still  kept  his  look 
of  youth,  although  he  was  approaching  his  thirty-fifth  birth- 
day. He  was  a  good-looking  fellow,  of  the  well-set-up 
military  type,  with  crisp  gingery  hair  and  a  close-cut 
moustache  to  match,  over  a  mouth  full  of  strong  white 
teeth.  He  had  never  known  a  day's  illness  in  his  life,  not 
even  a  twinge  of  toothache.  The  gods  had  showered  their 
gifts  on  him.  and  it  must  be  said  that  at  the  present  time 


44  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

he  was  grateful  to  them,  though  he  did  not  recognise  the 
full  measure  of  their  lavishness. 

The  two  of  them  lingered  in  the  garden,  under  a  sky 
of  amber  and  jade.  They  were  as  keen  on  the  garden  as 
on  everything  else  at  Little  Kemsale,  and  just  now  there 
were  borders  being  reconstituted  and  flowering  shrubs 
planted.  Douglas  slipped  his  arm  into  his  wife's  as  they 
examined  the  long  double  border  that  led  through  the  middle 
of  the  garden  behind  the  house,  and  found  fault  with  wh.-.t 
had  been  done  while  they  were  out.  They  were  the  best 
of  friends,  these  two.  Their  continued  pleasure  in  one 
another's  society  was  another  gift  of  the  gods,  but  one 
which  they  took  as  a  matter  of  course. 

They  had  tea  in  Douglas's  room,  which  had  been  built 
for  a  billiard  room  when  the  house  had  been  rearranged. 
It  was  not  big  enough  for  a  billiard-table  and  the  furniture 
of  a  comfortable  sitting-room  besides,  so  he  had  made  a 
library  of  it,  for  he  read  a  good  deal,  and  liked  buying 
books  and  arranging  them  on  his  shelves.  He  had  bought 
a  good  many  at  the  sale  at  Kemsale,  and  brought  his  book- 
shelves round  to  a  return  that  jutted  out  into  the  room,  by 
the  door.  The  work  had  just  been  finished,  and  all  the 
books,  new  and  old,  arranged  to  suit  the  extension.  And 
two  or  three  of  the  prints  that  he  had  also  bought  from 
Kemsale  were  hung  on  the  back  of  the  new  bookcase,  which 
was  covered  with  red  canvas  to  match  the  walls  of  the  room. 
Douglas  was  enchanted  with  the  effect.  The  masking  of 
the  door  made  the  room,  which  was  large  enough  to  benefit 
by  such  an  arrangement,  ever  so  much  cosier.  The  hand- 
some binding  of  many  of  the  books  from  Kemsale  added  to 
the  appearance  of  the  well-filled  shelves.  He  sat  on  the 
cushioned  fender  in  front  of  the  fire,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  and  looked  round  him  with  deep  satisfaction. 

"It's  a  great  success,  isn't  it?"  he  said.     "The  only 


LITTLE  KEMSALE  45 

thing  about  it  is  that  the  room  is  so  jolly  now  that  there's 
nothing  more  to  do  to  it." 

That  was  the  fly  in  the  ointment  The  pleasure  of 
"  making  "  a  room,  to  those  who  have  those  tastes,  is  keener 
than  the  pleasure  of  living  in  it. 

Beatrix  laughed.  She  liked  "  nice "  things,  but  was 
without  the  driving  acquisitive  taste.  "  We  shall  have 
enough  books  now  to  keep  us  quiet  for  a  long  time  to  come," 
she  said. 

Douglas  rose  and  went  up  to  the  shelves.  "  I  don't 
know,"  he  said.  "  There  are  a  good  many  we  haven't  got 
that  we  ought  to  have.  I  rather  wish  I  had  bid  up  for 
that  Pentland  Stevenson." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  boy,  it  went  up  to  a  terrific  price ;  and 
you've  got  all  Stevenson." 

"  Not  quite  all,  and  not  in  a  good  edition.  That  one 
is  sure  to  go  up  in  value  still  further.  That's  the  best 
of  buying  good  editions.  They're  jolly  to  have,  and  you 
can  sell  'em  for  more  than  you  gave,  if  you  want  to.  I 
say,  it's  jolly  getting  this  whole  set  of  '  Punches,'  isn't  it? 
Fancy  having  them  all  bound  in  red  morocco  like  that!  I 
must  ask  Meadshire  where  it  was  done.  We  shall  have  to 
get  the  new  ones  bound  in  the  same  way." 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  knows,"  said  Beatrix.  "  It  would 
be  done  by  the  groom  of  the  chambers,  just  because  it  had 
always  been  done  in  that  way;  and  probably  Lord  Mead- 
shire  never  looked  at  them.  It's  perfectly  appalling  the 
waste  that  went  on  in  that  house.  There  was  nobody  to 
check  anything." 

Douglas  returned  to  the  fireside,  where  Beatrix  was  now 
busy  with  the  tea-table.  Meadshire  and  Kemsale  were 
perennial  sources  of  conversation. 

"  In  a  way,"  said  Douglas — this  was  a  very  frequent 
opening  of  his — "  in  a  way,  I  can  understand  Meadshire 


46  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

being  quite  relieved  at  getting  rid  of  a  great  overgrown 
place  like  Kemsale.  You  might  almost  say  it  was  never 
really  his.  It  was  chock  full  of  jolly  things,  but  they  had 
all  been  put  there  by  somebody  else.  He  just  lived  amongst 
them,  when  he  was  there,  and  didn't  care  a  bit  about  them." 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  he  didn't.  He  was  very  keen  on 
getting  the  things  that  he  and  Grace  wanted  for  the  Herons' 
Nest,  and  furious  when  they  bid  up  against  him  in  that 
extraordinary  way." 

"  Well,  that's  just  what  I  say.  The  Herons'  Nest  is 
their  own,  in  a  way  that  Kemsale  never  was.  Of  course 
they  take  tremendous  interest  in  it,  and  in  everything  they 
put  into  it.  It  even  gives  Meadshire  something  to  do  that 
he  enjoys,  though  it  isn't  one  of  his  chief  tastes — that  sort 
of  thing — and  he'll  probably  get  tired  of  it  when  it's  all 
done." 

"  Poor  Lord  Meadshire !  " 

"  He's  nobody's  enemy  but  his  own.  You  were  going  to 
say  it;  I  know  you  were." 

Beatrix  paused,  looked  slightly  indignant,  and  then 
laughed,  and  Douglas  bent  down  to  her  and  kissed  her. 
It  was  one  of  the  amiable  habits  of  this  couple  to  take 
each  other  up  in  this  way  when  any  obvious  remark  seemed 
about  to  be  made. 

When  the  tea  was  nearly  over,  the  two  children  rushed 
in  like  a  tornado.  Woozle,  whose  baptismal  name  was 
Emily  Beatrice,  had  reached  the  tooth-shedding  age,  but 
was  otherwise  of  exceptional  and,  as  it  seemed  to  her 
father,  even  of  super-earthly  beauty.  She  had  very  dark 
eyes  and  hair,  and  a  pair  of  reedy  brown  legs,  of  which 
her  afternoon  costume  displayed  the  greater  proportion. 
She  hurled  herself  at  her  father,  who  had  just  time  enough 
to  put  down  his  teacup  in  order  to  receive  the  assault,  and 
he  hugged  her  and  rumpled  her  and  turned  her  over  his 


LITTLE  KEMSALE  47 

shoulder  and  back  again  in  a  way  that  made  her  shriek 
with  joy,  and  then  threw  himself  into  his  deep  easy-chair 
with  her  on  his  knee. 

In  the  meantime  Jimbo,  who  was  all  white  sailor  suit,  blue 
eyes,  and  lacquer-coloured  hair,  had  been  turning  somer- 
saults in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with  vociferous  demands 
for  notice  between  each  event.  When  he  had  nearly  upset 
the  tea-table  his  mother  caught  him,  laid  him  wriggling 
across  her  knee,  and  essayed  to  slap  that  part  of  him  which 
seemed  to  have  been  made  for  the  purpose ;  but  failing  in 
this  intention  pulled  him  upright  and  hugged  him  instead. 

"  You'll  spoil  that  young  ruffian  before  you've  done  with 
him,"  said  Douglas. 

"  You'll  spoil  that  little  minx  long  before  you've  done 
with  her,"  retorted  Beatrix.  "  We  are  both  very  unwise 
parents.  Now  then,  Jimbo,  tell  mummy  everything  you 
have  been  doing  this  afternoon  with  Lizette,  in  French." 

"  Which  mummy  won't  understand,"  said  Douglas. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  SHOOTING   PARTY 

THE  shooting  party  arrived  with  a  cheerful  bustle  in 
comfortable  time  to  settle  themselves  for  dinner.  It  con- 
sisted of  John  Fanshawe,  a  large  good-humoured  rather 
lazy  bachelor  of  no  occupation ;  William  Bradgate,  who 
had  been  in  Douglas  Irving's  regiment  and  was  now  of  the 
Stock  Exchange,  with  his  wife;  and  Charles  Wesbrook,  a 
successful  hard-working  barrister,  with  a  slow  smile  and 
a  confidential  manner.  There  were  also  of  the  party  the 
Hector  of  Kemsale  and  the  agent  to  the  Meadshire  property, 
both  of  whom  were  to  shoot  with  them  on  the  morrow. 

The  Rector  was  a  cousin  of  Meadshire's — the  Honour- 
able and  Reverend  James  Compton.  He  was  not  clerical, 
either  in  manner  or  appearance — a  very  tall  thin  man  of 
about  forty,  with  sleek  black  hair  well  brushed  back,  and 
a  cynical  type  of  face  permanently  decorated  with  an  eye- 
glass. He  had  no  particular  love  for  his  work,  and  no 
particular  aptitude  for  it,  but  did  what  had  to  be  done  in 
the  way  of  duty  conscientiously,  and  was  well  enough  liked 
by  his  parishioners.  He  was  a  bachelor,  and  reputed  rich, 
both  from  the  emoluments  of  his  living,  which  were  sub- 
stantial, and  from  private  sources.  He  lived  in  some  style 
and  considerable  comfort  in  his  charming  rectory  house, 
from  which  he  hunted  regularly  throughout  the  season. 
Apart  from  sport,  he  was  something  of  a  recluse ;  it  was  not 
very  often  that  Beatrix  Irving  could  get  him  to  accept  an 
invitation  to  dinner,  and  he  hardly  ever  dined  out  at  any 
of  the  country  houses  round  about.  He  was  an  omnivorous 

48 


THE  SHOOTING  PARTY  4& 

reader,  and  if  he  could  ever  be  induced  to  talk,  in  con- 
genial company,  exhibited  a  mind  stocked  with  all  kinds 
of  knowledge.  He  seemed  to  forget  nothing  that  he  had 
ever  read,  and  had  marvellous  powers  of  assimilating  and 
collating  his  knowledge.  But  he  made  no  use  of  it,  had 
never  published  a  line,  or  written  anything  except  some 
quite  ordinary  sermons.  Douglas  Irving  was  a  little 
afraid  of  him.  With  his  encyclopaedic  knowledge,  he  was 
a  wet  blanket  upon  his  own  facile  excursions  into  the  field 
of  mental  culture,  and  did  not  respond  too  heartily  to 
friendly  advances.  But  he  was  rather  proud  of  him  too, 
and  recognised  to  the  full  his  remarkable  abilities.  "  That 
fellow  knows  more  than  any  fellow  I've  ever  met,"  he 
would  say  to  those  to  whom  he  wished  to  exhibit  him.  "  You 
try  him  on  any  subject — I  don't  care  what  it  is — and  you'll 
find  he  knows  more  about  it  than  you  do.  Jolly  good  man 
on  a  horse  too,"  he  would  usually  add,  "  and  knows  all  the 
country  like  a  book.  You'll  never  find  him  far  behind 
when  it  comes  to  the  end  of  things." 

Captain  Herbert  Fuller,  Meadshire's  agent,  was  a  small, 
compact  man  of  about  sixty.  He  was  rather  a  pathetic 
figure  to  those  who  knew  of  his  life  and  immediate  sur- 
roundings. He  had  married  rather  beneath  him,  and  his 
wife  had  been  trying  to  persuade  everybody  ever  since  that 
she  had  married  beneath  her.  She  was  extravagant,  in  a 
yellow-haired  towny  sort  of  way,  and  had  a  daughter  of 
one  and  twenty  whom  she  was  training  to  follow  in  her 
footsteps.  They  lived  in  a  converted  farmhouse,  which 
would  have  been  an  ideal  country  home  if  Mrs.  Fuller  had 
had  any  idea  of  how  to  make  it  so.  But  there  was  no  com- 
fort or  enjoyment  inside  it,  at  least  for  the  poor  little 
peaceably  minded  Captain  Fuller,  who  was  obliged  to  spend 
on  it  the  whole  of  his  hardly  earned  income,  and  had  con- 
stant ado  not  to  exceed  it.  Mrs.  Fuller  went  by  the  name 


50  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHAXGETH 

of  Tottie  behind  her  back,  and  all  the  ladies  of  the 
neighbourhood  regarded  her  as  a  scourge.  Some  of  them 
were  sorry  for  her  daughter,  Irene,  agreeing  that  she  had 
not  had  much  chance;  but  she  was  dull  and  slow  at  th-: 
best,  and  by  this  time  she  had  been  generally  given  up.  as 
material  to  be  worked  upon.  Mrs.  Fuller  had  been  making 
ludicrous  attempts  during  the  past  five  years  to  marry  her 
to  the  Rector,  who  could  hardly  bring  himself  to  be  civil 
to  either  of  them.  Poor  little  Herbert,  as  Captain  Fuller 
was  usually  called,  would  never  have  been  allowed  to  dine 
at  Little  Kemsale  en  gar$on  as  he  was  now  doing,  and 
Beatrix  Irving  would  never  have  spoilt  such  a  party  by  ask- 
ing his  women  folk,  if  they  had  been  there  to  be  asked.  But, 
fortunately,  Tottie  and  Irene  were  amusing  themselves 
shopping  in  London,  and  poor  little  Herbert,  with  his  neat 
little  grey  moustache  and  sharp  decisive  speech,  was  quite 
ready  to  expand  to  his  small  limits,  and  play  his  part  in 
a  company  consisting  chiefly  of  men. 

"  Well,  Kemsale  is  sold,"  he  told  them,  standing  before 
the  fire  in  the  drawing-room,  and  looking  sharply  from  one 
to  the  other.  "  I  had  the  news  thu  afternoon.  But  I 
can't  tell  you  who's  the  buyer  yet." 

"  Oh,  I  can,"  said  Bradgate.  "  I  heard  it  in  the  City 
this  morning.  It's  Armitage  Brown.  Douglas,  my  boy, 
if  you  play  your  cards  well,  you'll  get  tips  that  will  put 
money  in  your  pocket  all  the  time." 

There  was  a  general  exclamation.  This  was  news  in- 
deed, and  gave  matter  for  discussion  during  the  greater  part 
of  the  dinner  to  which  they  now  went  in. 

Every  now  and  then  there  arises  on  the  horizon  a  man 
of  business  who  captures  the  imagination  of  the  whole 
country;  a  man  who  stands  for  brilliant  success  and  oppor- 
tunities' for  unlimited  wealth.  Armitage  Brown  was  that 
man  at  this  time — a  self-made  man,  as  most  of  them  are, 


THE  SHOOTING  PARTY  51 

a  keen  and  masterful  financier,  with  some  big  affairs  to  his 
credit,  and  as  yet  no  trail  of  deluded  victims  hanging  on  to 
his  operations.  And  indeed  there  seemed  to  be  no  reason, 
in  his  case,  to  anticipate  the  ultimate  downfall  that  not 
infrequently  overtakes  these  Napoleons  of  finance.  His 
operations  were  large  and  bold,  but  they  were  clean  and 
sound  enough,  or  at  least  had  attracted  none  of  the  criticism 
that  would  have  been  eager  to  pounce  upon  them  if  there 
had  been  any  points  to  direct  itself  against.  And  the 
public  at  this  time  was  cautious  about  such  operators,  and 
apt  to  be  suspicious  of  them.  The  last  one  had  gone  down 
heavily,  and  dragged  thousands  with  him.  Armitage  Brown 
had  a  difficult  path  to  tread,  but  so  far  he  had  trodden  it 
without  a  slip. 

Bradgate  had  a  good  deal  to  say  about  him.  "  He's 
more  like  one  of  the  big  American  fellows,  the  Carnegies 
and  Pierpont  Morgans,  than  our  Jabez  Balfours  and 
Whittaker  Wrights,"  he  said.  "  He's  got  the  eye  for  it; 
sees  money  in  everything." 

"  The  rubber  boom  started  him,  didn't  it? "  asked 
Wesbrook. 

"  Oh,  he'd  made  a  pile  long  before  that.  But  he  prob- 
ably more  than  doubled  it  over  rubber.  All  his-  things 
were  sound,  too;  that's  what  gave  him  his  reputation. 
And  he  made  another  scoop  when  the  slump  came ;  he  knew 
his  markets.  He's  a  wily  bird,  Mr.  Armitage  Brown. 
He'll  be  a  big  b'ttle  man  one  of  these  days,  bigger  than  he 
is  now." 

Most  of  the  company  round  the  dinner-table  were  anxious 
for  news  of  Mr.  Armitage  Brown  on  his  private  and 
domestic  side,  which  would  affect  them  more  than  his  public 
— his  wealth  being  taken  for  granted.  But  there  was 
very  little  news  forthcoming. 

"  I've  seen  him  in  the  City,"  said  Bradgate.     "  He's  a 


52  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

middle-aged  fellow  with  a  heavy  jowl  and  a  stubby  mous- 
tache, nothing  very  remarkable  to  look  at.  I  don't  fancy 
anybody  knows  much  about  him  in  his  happy  home.  He 
seems  to  have  kept  that  dark,  so  far." 

"  He  has  a  great  big  house  out  at  Hillgrove,"  said 
Wesbrook. 

"  Ah,  yes,  in  the  suburbs.  And  now  he's  ready  to  cut 
«i  dash  as  the  country  gentleman.  You'll  be  having  some 
changes  here,  Douglas,  my  boy." 

Poor  little  Herbert  had  been  soaking  in  the  information 
afforded  with  an  ever-lengthening  face.  "  I  hope  he  won't 
be  trying  new-fangled  experiments  with  the  land,"  he  said. 

"  Of  course  he  will,"  said  Bradgate.  "  You'll  be  taught 
your  business,  Fuller.  I  bet  he'll  make  the  land  pay,  too, 
whatever  experiments  he  tries." 

Poor  little  Herbert's  face  grew  longer  still.  It  seemed 
possible  that  under  the  circumstances  he  might  not  be 
there  to  learn  his  business  over  again.  And  if  he  were 
dismissed,  what  chance  had  he,  at  his  age,  of  getting 
another  job? 

"  Then  we  know  now  who  it  was  that  bought  all  that 
furniture  at  the  sale,"  said  Beatrix.  "  Of  course,  if  it 
was  a  man  as  rich  as  that,  he  wouldn't  mind  what  he  paid 
for  it." 

This  was  a  new  light.  It  moved  the  Rector  to  speech. 
"  I  don't  imagine  I  shall  get  on  with  a  man  like  that," 
he  said  slowly. 

The  rest  looked  at  him.     This  was  important. 

"  Meadshire  telephoned  to  his  agents,"  he  went  on,  "  that 
he  wanted  to  buy  in  a  few  family  things,  and  Brown,  or 
whoever  it  was,  told  them  to  buy  them  all  the  same." 

"  Yes,  that's  Master  Armitage  all  over/'  said  Bradgate. 
"  What  he  wants  he's  going  to  have." 

"What  about  the  shoot?  "  asked  Fanshawe. 


THE  SHOOTING  PARTY  53 

"Well,  he  can't  turn  us  out  of  that  this  season.  I  don't 
suppose  we  shall  get  it  again,  though.  Master  Armitage 
will  want  to  learn  to  shoot  himself.  I  don't  suppose  he's 
ever  done  such  a  thing  before.  When's  he  coming  down, 
Fuller?" 

Poor  little  Herbert  came  out  of  a  painful  reverie  with  a 
jump.  "  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  I  just  heard  that  the 
sale  was  complete — the  house  and  all  the  farms." 

"  What  an  appalling  prospect !  "  said  the  Rector. 

His  tone  brought  a  short  pause.  It  showed  him  to  have 
considered  the  news  in  its  entirety,  and  to  be  pronouncing 
upon  it.  His  character  and  position  were  such  that  the 
way  it  struck  him  gave  food  for  conjecture  as  to  future 
developments. 

"  It  will  make  a  good  deal  of  difference  to  all  of  us," 
said  Douglas. 

Mrs.  Bradgate  broke  in.  She  was  a  lively  pretty  little 
woman,  some  years  younger  than  her  husband.  "  You 
ought  to  have  a  lot  more  fun  than  you  did  when  Lord 
Meadshire  was  here,"  she  said.  "  You  can't  say  that  he 
is  much  loss." 

There  was  another  pause,  such  as  to  cause  her  to  look 
round  to  see  whether  she  had  said  something  that  she  ought 
not  to  have  said.  She  met  her  husband's  eyes  directed 
towards  her  with  humorous  tolerance.  "  Oh,  yes,  you've 
put  your  foot  in  it  all  right,"  he  said.  "  Mr.  Compton  is 
Lord  Meadshire's  cousin." 

The  slight  tension  was  relieved.  Compton  laughed  with 
the  rest.  "  You  needn't  mind,  Mrs.  Bradgate/'  he  said. 
"I  don't  in  the  least.  My  cousin's  follies  have  been  as 
annoying  to  me  as  to  everybody  else." 

It  was  not  quite  what  he  might  have  been  expected  to 
say.  Opinion  towards  Meadshire  was  tolerant  at  this  time. 
He  had  at  least  paid  the  fall  price  for  his  follies,  and 


54  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

should  be  considered  immune  from  criticism  until  he  com- 
mitted further  ones.  Besides,  as  Beatrix  Irving  had  said 
with  such  originality,  he  was  nobody's  enemy  but  his  own, 
and  he  had  certainly  never  acted  with  enmity  towards  any 
of  those  present. 

Poor  little  Herbert  came  up  loyally  to  his  defence.  "  He 
was  a  very  good  landlord,"  he  said.  "  Lots  of  landowners 
who  wanted  more  money  out  of  their  estates  could  have 
done  all  sorts  of  things  to  get  it  or  save  it  that  he  never 
did.  Everything  has  been  kept  up,  till  the  last  minute." 

Perhaps  some  of  the  dislike  that  Compton  felt  for  the 
persecuting  Tottie  extended  vicariously  to  that  lady's  hus- 
band; perhaps  he  merely  resented  a  hint  of  contradiction. 
He  looked  at  the  speaker  not  at  all  amiably.  "  He  never 
gave  a  moment's  thought  to  his  duties  as  a  landlord,"  he 
said.  "  You  know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  He  just  let 
everything  slide." 

Poor  little  Herbert  was  taken  aback  by  this  direct  attack, 
and  subsided,  fingering  his  moustache.  Douglas  Irving 
came  to  his  rescue,  amiably,  but  with  a  shade  of  nervous- 
ness. "  He  knew  that  he  could  safely  leave  everything  to 
Fuller,"  he  said. 

Compton  turned  to  him.  His  face  was  pale,  and  his  jaw 
set.  "  I've  kept  pretty  much  to  myself,"  he  said,  "  while 
all  this  business  has  been  going  on.  I've  been  bottling  up 
what  I  feel  about  it.  Now  I'll  tell  you,  straight  out.  I 
think  that  for  a  man  in  Meadshire's  position,  the  way  he's 
dealt  with  this  property  is  a  betrayal  of  trust.  Everybody 
is  inclined  to  pat  him  on  the  back  now,  and  say  he's  done 
the  right  thing.  He  was  in  debt,  and  he's  given  up  every- 
thing. What  right  had  he  to  give  up  everything?  If  a 
general  in  the  field  gets  into  a  mess,  are  you  going  to  pat 
him  on  the  back  if  he  slinks  out  of  it  and  gives  up  his 
troops  ?  " 


THE  SHOOTING  PARTY  55 

He  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair.  The  pause  that 
followed  was  very  awkward  indeed.  He  had  spoken  with 
heat,  advancing  a  disconcerting  point  of  view.  No  one 
wanted  to  blame  Meadshire;  no  one  wanted  to  discuss  the 
ethics  of  landowning. 

Mrs.  Bradgate  broke  the  silence.  "  I  feel  very  sorry 
for  poor  Lord  Meadshire/'  she  said  feelingly. 

There  was  a  moment's  tension,  and  then  everybody 
laughed,  except  Compton,  who  glared  at  her. 

"Now  we  are  going  to  have  this  company  promoter  foisted 
on  us,"  he  went  on.  "  He'll  ride  roughshod  over  every- 
thing and  everybody.  Nothing  will  be  the  same  as  it  was 
before.  And  that's  what  Meadshire  has  brought  us  to." 

No  one  in  the  room  had  heard  him  talk  like  this  before, 
or  indeed  express  himself  with  warmth  upon  any  subject 
whatever.  Douglas  Irving  was  impressed  by  his  manner 
to  vague  discomfort. 

"Oh,  well,  perhaps  he  won't  be  so  bad,"  he  said.  "  He 
won't  want  to  upset  people." 

Compton  made  no  reply,  except  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

Charles'  Wesbrook  entered  the  lists  in  his  slow  delibera- 
tive way.  "  That  sort  of  thing  is  going  on  all  over  Eng- 
land," he  said,  "  the  old  men  going  out  and  the  new  men 
coining  in.  It  doesn't  work  so  very  badly.  The  new  men 
make  mistakes  occasionally,  but  they  learn,  and  before  you 
know  where  you  are,  they're  the  old  men  in  their  turn." 

Compton  roused  himself  again.  Evidently,  anything  but 
complete  accord  with  his  opinions  irritated  him.  "  It's 
only  the  people  who  are  bred  and  born  to  it  who  know  how 
to  deal  with  land,"  he  said  dogmatically.  "  Every  time 
a  property  passes  from  the  hands  of  those  who  understand 
land,  and  comes  into  the  hands  of  those  who  don't,  the 
country  goes  back." 

Nobody   was   ready  to  draw  fire  upon  himself  by  dis- 


56  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

puting  this  proposition.  Mrs.  Bradgate  did  so  by  inquiring: 
"  That's  what  you  call  High  Toryism,  isn't  it?  " 

She  asked  the  question  with  engaging  innocence,  her 
head  a  little  on  one  side  and  her  limpid  eyes  fixed  sweetly 
upon  Compton's  face.  He  replied,  rather  sourly:  "It's 
common  sense,  which  I  suppose  is  the  same  thing,"  and 
then  everybody  else  laughed,  once  more. 

Later  on  in  the  evening,  when  Compton  and  Fuller  had 
gone  home,  and  the  rest  of  them  were  round  the  fire  in 
Douglas's  room,  the  little  lady  was  accused  of  pulling  the 
Rector's  leg. 

But  she  would  not  acknowledge  it.  "  You  always  laugh 
at  me,  Bill,  whenever  I  try  to  take  part  in  a  serious  conver- 
sation," she  complained.  "  I  believe  you  think  I'm  a  fool." 

"  We  don't,  Mrs.  Bill,"  said  Fanshawe.  "  We  think 
you're  a  very  clever  woman.  I  say,  Douglas,  that  parson 
of  yours  is  what  you  call  high  and  dry,  eh  ?  " 

"I'm  a  Tory  myself,"  said  Wesbrook;  "but  I  hate 
intolerance." 

"  He  didn't  show  up  very  well  to-night,"  Douglas  ad- 
mitted. "  He's  an  extraordinarily  clever  fellow,  really  ; 
and  a  jolly  good  man  on  a " 

"  It  doesn't  take  much  cleverness  to  repeat  all  the  Tory 
gags,"  interrupted  Wesbrook.  "  That's  about  all  he  did 
to-night." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Douglas ;  "  he's  rather  a  bore  on  poli- 
tics, I  admit.  But  get  him  on  any  other  subject — I  don't 
care  what  it  is — and  there's  no  fellow  who  knows  more." 

"  If  he  thinks  in  that  way  about  Mr.  Armitage  Brown," 
said  Beatrix,  "  they  won't  get  on  very  well  when  he 
comes  here." 

"  As  he's  so  keen  on  people  doing  their  duty,"  said 
Wesbrook,  "  I  should  say  that  a  parson's  duty  is  to  keep 
on  good  terms  with  his  squire." 


THE  SHOOTING  PARTY  57 

"  I  suppose  he'll  still  look  on  Meadshire  as  his  squire, 
if  he's  going  on  living  here,"  said  Fanshawe. 

"  Well,  he's  his  own  squire — in  a  way,"  said  Douglas. 
"  He  bought  the  patronage  of  Kemsale  from  Meadshire, 
to  prevent  his  selling  it  elsewhere." 

"  Then  in  that  case  I  should  think  he'd  make  himself 
a  thorn  in  the  side  of  Master  Armitage,"  said  Bradgate. 
"  I  shouldn't  be  too  ready  to  take  sides  if  I  were  you, 
Duggy.  Armitage  Brown  is  as  rich  as  Croesus,  and  if 
he's  decided  that  his  time  has  come  to  set  up  in  an 
enormous  house  like  Kemsale,  there'll  probably  be  some 
fun  going." 

The  advice  fitted  in  with  Douglas's  inclinations.  "  Of 
course  I'm  sorry  to  see  Meadshire  turned  out,"  he  said. 
"  But  after  all,  he's  sold  the  place  and  got  his  price. 
The  new  man  ought  to  have  his  chance.  It  will  be  rather 
exciting,  finding  out  what  he's  like." 

"  Lord  Meadshire  is  furious  at  his  stopping  him  getting 
the  things  that  he  and  Grace  wanted  at  the  sale,"  said 
Beatrix.  "  I  don't  think  he  will  give  him  a  very  warm 
welcome." 


CHAPTER  V 

ARMITAGE  BROWN 

ON  a  Sunday  afternoon  at  about  this  time,  Mr.  Armitage 
Brown  and  his  wife  and  son  and  daughter  were  drinking 
tea  in  the  morning-room  of  Hillgrove  Towers. 

Hillgrove  Towers  was  a  castellated  mansion  which  had 
been  profusely  erected  in  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury on  the  site  of  an  older  house.  It  stood  in  about  twenty 
acres  of  beautiful  grounds,  on  the  side  of  a  hill  overlooking 
the  country  to  the  south  of  London,  from  the  heart  of 
which  it  was  divided  by  three  or  four  miles  of  suburbs, 
which  already  hemmed  it  in  on  three  sides  and  were  fast 
pushing  out  beyond  it  on  the  fourth.  The  trams  ran  along 
the  road  upon  which  its  lodge  gates  were  situated ;  Armitage 
Brown's  motor-car  deposited  him  at  his  office  in  the  City  in 
less  than  half  an  hour  from  the  time  of  his  stepping  into 
it  at  the  front  door  of  the  Towers,  and  had  been  known 
to  come  home  from  a  late  theatre,  when  the  streets  were 
clear,  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

But  inside  the  high  walls  that  surrounded  the  property 
there  was  complete  seclusion,  and  except  for  the  sooty 
coating  on  the  trunks  of  trees  and  the  leaves  of  shrubs, 
you  might  have  been  in  a  garden  in  the  heart  of  the 
country.  It  was  very  opulent,  in  the  way  of  great  ranges 
of  glass-houses,  elaborate  effects  of  tender  flowers  in  the 
summer  beds,  and  very  carefully  tended  lawns;  but  there 
were  sylvan  recesses  within  its  limits  besides,  and  a  tree- 
enclosed  paddock  or  two,  and  a  large  lake  on  the  lower 
ground. 

58 


ARMITAGE  BROWN  59 

These  rura  in  urbe  are  becoming  increasingly  rare  in 
the  immediate  outskirts  of  London.  At  the  time  that  the 
pretentious  "  Towers  "  had  taken  the  place  of  the  pleasant 
old  rambling  house  that  had  stood  here,  this  one  had 
been  actually  in  the  country,  and  a  little  bit  of  the  country 
was  still  preserved  within  its  walls.  But  outside  them 
there  was  nothing  but  a  waste  of  little  houses,  running  in 
rectangular  streets  over  the  ground  where  there  had  once 
been  meadows  and  arable  fields  belonging  to  the  old  house. 
A  few  such  places  have  lately  been  preserved  from  the 
fate  that  has  overtaken  most  of  them  by  the  rise  of  motor- 
transport.  Rich  people  who  like  space  around  them,  but 
have  no  further  leanings  towards  country  life,  might  be 
expected  to  compete  eagerly  for  the  possession  of  them, 
where  they  have  been  made  almost  as  accessible  as  South 
Kensington  or  Campden  Hill.  But  there  remains  a  sort 
of  stigma  on  suburban  life,  even  where  it  has  almost  ceased 
to  become  suburban,  and  few  families  that  inhabit  such 
places  as  "  The  Towers  "  remain  in  them  for  more  than 
a  generation. 

The  Browns  had  lived  here  for  nearly  twenty  years, 
and  now  they  were  ready  to  move  on.  They  were  a  case 
in  point. 

Armitage  Brown  was  a  self-made  man,  but  he  was  not 
sprung  from  the  lowest  classes  of  the  community.  He 
had  no  difficulty  with  his  h's,  and  had  never  eaten  with 
his  knife.  His  father  had  been  in  business  in  the  City, 
in  connection  with  produce  of  some  sort,  and  had  even 
left  him  some  money.  He  had  an  elder  brother  who  still 
carried  on  the  paternal  business,  and  did  well  witli  it. 
Armitage  Brown  had  left  school  at  fourteen  and  entered 
a  stockbroker's  firm,  first  as  office-boy,  then  as  clerk,  then 
as  authorized  clerk.  For  ten  or  twelve  years  he  had 
remained  obscure,  one  of  the  many  thousand  young  men 


60  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

who  work  in  offices  in  London,  and  go  home  every  night 
to  some  unknown  dwelling-place,  in  which  they  live  a  life 
completely  separated  from  that  of  their  working  hours. 
The  degree  to  which  the  one  life  is  subordinated  to  the 
other  will  usually  give  the  degree  to  which  any  one  of 
these  young  men  has  it  in  him  to  raise  himself  out  of 
the  ruck. 

Armitage  Brown  married  early,  on  a  very  small  income, 
and  his  three  children,  one  of  whom  died  in  infancy,  came 
quickly,  one  after  the  other.  He  might,  at  this  stage,  well 
have  been  immersed  in  the  little  interests  and  anxieties 
of  his  home  life,  as  are  many  thousands  like  him.  The 
difficulty  felt  by  such  men  as  he  is  often  in  finding  just 
that  first  small  sum  of  money  which  they  can  use  as  a 
lever  in  raising  themselves  out  of  the  salaried  class.  To 
that  extent  he  had  handicapped  himself  by  his  early  mar- 
riage, for  the  whole  of  his  salary  was  swamped  in  current 
expenses. 

But  he  was  learning,  and  watching  for  his  chance  all 
the  time.  He  saw  it,  and  asked  his  father  for  money,  which 
was  refused  him.  He  never  forgave  this,  not  even  when 
his  father  died  and  left  him  a  couple  of  thousand  pounds. 
That  sum  was  nothing  to  him  then.  A  tenth  of  it  would 
have  saved  him  three  years  of  poverty,  if  he  could  have 
had  the  use  of  it  at  the  right  time. 

It  was  for  three  years  that  he  waited  for  the  next  chance, 
but  in  the  meantime  his  salary  had  increased,  and  his 
home  expenses  had  not — not  by  a  penny.  His  wife  knew 
nothing  of  the  business  side  of  his  life.  For  all  the  infor- 
mation he  gave  her  she  might  have  expected  him  to  remain 
a  poor  clerk  all  his  days. 

He  came  home  one  evening  and  told  her  that  they  could 
afford  to  move  into  a  larger  house  and  keep  three  servants 


ARM  IT  AGE  BROWN  6l 

instead  of  one.  He  was  his  own  master  now — had  been 
for  a  month  and  more — and  was  doing  well. 

Exactly  how  well  he  was  doing  she  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  of.  Things  had  begun  to  march  at  last.  He  was 
only  twenty-five,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  passed 
a  long  lifetime  of  struggle,  with  all  the  chances  against  him. 

The  years  of  watching  and  waiting,  and  the  ultimate 
STiccess,  from  which  he  never  looked  back,  had,  in  fact,  set 
their  mark  on  him,  and  far  more  than  he  knew.  On  the 
one  hand,  he  had  wonderfully  perfected  his  knowledge  and 
judgment,  had  learnt  patience  and  strong  self-restraint. 
There  had  been  many  times  when  a  speculation,  hardly 
even  risky,  would  have  put  him  where  lie  aimed  at  being. 
But  he  would  not  risk  what  he  had — his  reputation,  the 
assured  basis  of  his  home — ever  so  slightly.  When  he 
struck,  it  was  with  the  certainty  of  succeeding.  This  hold- 
ing back  of  himself,  through  what  seemed  at  his  age  long 
years,  while  the  spirit  of  adventure  in  him  urged  him  to 
make  use  of  his  fast-maturing  powers,  was  an  achievement 
of  character. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  splitting  up  of  his  life  into  two, 
begun  at  that  early  age,  marked  the  price  which  most  men 
who  make  a  strong  assault  upon  wealth  have  to  pay  for 
their  success.  His  working  hours  were  full  of  interest; 
his  home  life  was  stunted  and  incomplete,  for  lack  of  money 
spent  on  easing  the  wheels  of  its  machinery.  Ease  and 
enjoyment,  these  would  come  later;  in  the  meantime  he 
withdrew  his  mind  from  desire  of  them. 

If  he  could  have  made  his  wife  a  partner  in  his  ambitions 
no  harm  need  have  come  of  this.  But  he  knew,  with  the 
sharp  instinctive  knowledge  of  character  that  was  already 
beginning  to  develop  in  him,  that  she  would  not  agree  with 
him  in  sacrificing  some  years  of  their  youth  to  the  chance 
of  large  wealth  in  the  future.  She  was  a  shade  more  gently 


62  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

nurtured  than  he,  and  while  she  bore  uncomplainingly  the 
poverty  to  which  he  condemned  her  and  her  children,  as 
well  as  himself,  because  she  thought  it  unavoidable,  it  is 
doubtful  if  she  would  have  forgiven  him  if  she  had  known 
that  he  was  depriving  her  of  the  small  yearly  sum  that 
would  have  taken  off  her  shoulders  the  worst  of  the  burden. 
He  never  did  tell  her  that  he  had  been  saving  money  during 
the  greater  part  of  those  hard  years.  She  never  looked 
back  upon  them  with  pleasure,  as  so  many  people  who 
have  become  rich  are  able  to  do  on  their  early  days  of 
poverty,  except  perhaps  upon  the  first  year  of  their  married 
life,  before  the  children  began  to  come.  The  struggle  had 
marked  her  too  deeply.  She  only  wanted  to  forget  it. 

Nor  did  she  know,  when  they  moved  to  the  larger  house, 
and  her  authorized  expenditure  was  multiplied  by  four,  how 
small  a  proportion  it  still  bore  to  what  her  husband  could 
have  afforded.  He  set  aside  money  for  his  home  on  terms 
that  were  almost  cold-blooded,  although  he  was  a  kind- 
hearted  man  by  nature,  and  loved  his  wife  and  children. 
He  would  certainly  have  said  that  it  was  for  them  he  was 
working,  and  believed  it;  and  it  would  have  been  true 
with  regard  to  the  money  that  he  allocated  to  the  expenses 
of  living.  He  allowed  himself  no  pleasures  that  they  did 
not  share,  and  his  meals  in  the  City,  when  he  was  scraping 
money  together,  and  was  of  an  age  when  the  body  calls 
out  for  nourishment,  were  more  meagre  than  theirs.  Also, 
they  would  have  all  that  they  wanted  in  the  future.  But 
he  would  have  kept  them,  and  himself  as  well,  on  their 
almost  starvation  allowance  for  an  indefinite  time,  if  there 
had  been  any  practical  object  to  serve  by  doing  so.  There 
was  none,  when  he  did  make  the  increase.  The  few  hun- 
dreds a  year  that  he  allotted  to  living  expenses  counted 
as  nothing  in  the  turnover  of  his  operations.  It  was  what 
he  could  afford  without  being  hampered  by  its  loss.  He 


ARMITAGE  BROWN  63 

fixed  it  by  that  standard.  It  was  put  aside  and  not  thought 
of  again.  It  was  for  his  wife  to  deal  with  it. 

At  this  stage,  then,  he  had  already  reached  the  point 
at  which  the  making  of  money  was  his  chief  object,  and 
not  any  of  the  things  that  money  could  buy.  He  enjoyed 
the  increased  comfort  of  his  home,  but  only  in  a  very  minor 
degree  beside  the  enjoyment  he  obtained  from  his  work, 
and  his  now  increasing  opportunities  in  it.  He  rather 
guarded  himself  against  interests  outside  his  business,  from 
the  feeling  that  the  time  had  not  yet  come  for  him  to 
divide  them,  in  however  small  a  degree.  His  evenings  were 
apt  to  be  dull;  he  came  to  the  beginning  of  the  week's 
work  with  much  the  same  pleasurable  anticipation  as  most 
men  come  to  the  end  of  it;  and  the  annual  holiday  was 
acute  boredom  to  him.  His  home  was  a  place  to  rest  in; 
he  wanted  no  society  but  that  of  his  wife  and  children, 
and  was  gradually  unfitting  himself  for  society,  except 
that  of  men  with  whom  he  could  talk  business;  he  never 
read  anything  except  what  might  have  a  bearing  upon 
business ;  he  had  a  mild  liking  for  music  and  pictures,  and 
thought  that  he  might  develop  those  tastes  later  on,  when 
he  should  become  very  much  richer  and  should  have  more 
time.  He  did  not  see  that  he  was  impairing  all  his  capa- 
bilities for  enjoying  life  outside  the  doors  of  his  office,  and 
that  the  more  money  he  should  make  the  less  he  would  be 
fitted  to  use  it  except  as  a  lever  to  make  more  still. 

Probably  the  two  years  they  spent  in  the  semi-detached 
villa  which  was  their  second  home  was  the  happiest  period 
of  his  life.  The  severe  restrictions  of  the  early  years, 
which  had  irked  him,  although  much  less  so  than  his  wife, 
were  over,  and  he  had  absolutely  everything  that  he  desired 
in  his  home.  And  in  the  much  fuller  life  that  he  lived  in 
pursuance  of  his  schemes,  the  glow  of  excitement  was  over 
everything — more  so  than  in  later  .years,  when  success  was 


64,  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHAXGETH 

a  fact  beyond  r.H  hazard,  and  expectation  embraced  only 
the  operation  of  the  moment,  and  not  the  large  future. 

And  yet,  even  at  this  -stage,  he  would  never  have  admitted 
that  the  skill  with  which  lie  played  the  game  of  finance, 
and  the  success  he  might  have  in  it,  were  the  only  things 
he  really  cared  about.  To  acknowledge  that  would  have 
been  to  depreciate  the  coin  for  which  he  worked  so  hard 
to  the  value  of  a  counter.  Xo;  he  was  to  use  it  some  day. 
or  the  overplus  of  it;  but  the  using  of  it  would  need  a 
whole  new  set  of  desires  and  occupations,  and  these  would 
have  to  be  created.  It  was  a  prospect  that  infused  no 
warmth  into  his  imagination.  He  would  like  to  be  a  rich 
and  powerful  man,  living  in  a  big  house — at  least,  he 
supposed  he  would  like  it.  But  there  was  no  hurry ;  that 
could  all  wait. 

He  was  under  thirty  when  he  bought  "  The  Towers," 
and  his  expenditure  rose  from  hundreds  to  thousands. 
Those  thousands  had  no  more  actual  significance  in  the 
strategy  of  his  dealings  than  the  hundreds  had  had.  He 
had  gone  beyond  the  point  at  which  he  could  measure  the 
satisfaction  to  be  gained  from  existence  in  such  a  house 
by  what  it  cost  him.  It  might  be  said  that,  judged  by 
any  practical  standard,  it  cost  him  nothing. 

But  he  did  gain  some  genuine  satisfaction  over  dealing 
with  large  sums  of  money  in  this  way,  for  the  first  time. 
The  feeling  curiously  resembled  the  spendthrift  satisfac- 
tion in  getting  rid  of  money  for  the  sake  of  getting  rid 
of  it,  of  which  instance  has  already  been  made,  but  rested 
on  very  different  grounds.  Its  basis  was  an  attempt  to 
touch  the  measure  of  possession,  hitherto  little  tested  on 
this  side.  Henceforward  there  would  be  no  limits  to  the 
acquisition  of  anything  that  he  might  desire  to  have — 
the  desires  themselves  being  contained  within  reasonable 
bounds  by  his  previous  training  of  himself.  Cost  need 


ARMITAGE  BROWN  65 

not  be  counted,  and  indeed  the  satisfaction  would  have 
departed  if  it  had  had  to  be.  The  things  that  other  men 
struggled  hard  for,  as  an  end  in  themselves,  and  made 
themselves  anxious  about,  he  could  now  take,  with  no 
more  forethought,  as  far  as  price  was  concerned,  than  is 
necessary  for  the  buying  of  a  toy  in  the  street. 

That  he  could  hardly  expect  to  enjoy  them  when  he 
had  got  them,  as  much  as  if  he  had  been  obliged  to  scheme 
for  them,  did  not  occur  to  him.  He  did  enjoy  possession 
of  "  The  Towers  "  as  much  as  he  had  left  himself  capable 
of  enjoying  anything  outside  the  main  interest  of  his  life. 
Its  largeness  and  pretentiousness  suited  what  taste  he  had 
in  such  matters,  and  it  pleased  him  again  to  write  a  thump- 
ing cheque  for  its  sumptuous1  furnishing,  after  he  had  given 
his  wife  carte  blanche  in  that  respect.  She  was  encouraged 
to  run  the  house  on  a  lavish  scale,  and  he  did  the  same 
himself  with  gardens  and  stable,  but  exercised  his  grasp 
of  detail  there,  to  the  extent  of  not  being  imposed  upon  by 
servants.  Otherwise  everything  was  to  be  of  the  best,  and 
he  came  to  take  a  mild  pleasure  in  his  forcing-houses  and 
conservatories.  It  amounted  to  no  more  than  a  stroll  round 
them  with  a  cigar,  on  Sundays  or  summer  evenings,  and 
a  pride  in  the  show  they  made.  He  knew  the  names  of 
very  few  of  the  flowers  banked  there  in  gorgeous  masses, 
and  nothing  at  all  about  their  growth;  all  that  was  left 
to  his  gardeners.  When  the  house  was  once  furnished 
his  interest  in  it  ceased.  He  took  for  granted  what  was 
in  it,  and  never  thought  of  adding  anything,  though  his 
wife  was  at  liberty  to  buy  what  she  liked. 

After  a  time  he  began  to  buy  pictures.  He  bought  them 
nearly  all  out  of  the  yearly  exhibitions  at  the  Academy, 
and  occasionally  in  sale-rooms,  but  bought  none  of  an  earlier 
date  than  the  latter  half  of  the  nineteenth  centurj'.  In 
time  he  acquired  a  large  and  representative  collection  of 


66  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

modern  British  art  on  its  more  obvious  side,  and  had  paid 
in  the  aggregate  a  very  large  sum  for  it.  For  many  years 
this  collection  represented  all  his  expenditure  outside  the 
keeping  up  of  his  home;  and  he  was  growing  richer  and 
richer,  though  he  had  not  yet  reached  the  point  at  which 
his  name  had  become  a  household  word. 

Perhaps  that  was  what  he  was  unconsciously  striving  for 
during  those  years — to  take  a  recognised  place  amongst 
the  big  men.  Work  must  have  some  end  in  view  if  it  is 
to  keep  its  salt,  even  though  that  end  may  not  be  definitely 
envisaged.  He  had  no  ambitions  towards  any  larger  life 
outside  his  business  hours  to  which  his  money  could  help 
him,  and,  denied  an  outlet  there,  his  energies  could  only 
lead  towards  wide  recognition,  if  they  were  to  lead  any- 
where. When  the  recognition  came,  when  his  name  became 
known  everywhere,  and  hardly  a  newspaper  was  published 
without  some  mention  of  it,  a  change  in  his  way  of  living 
seemed  already  to  be  indicated.  He  was  to  be  carried  on. 
to  embark  on  new  and  untried  waters,  and  it  was  not 
without  surprise  that  he  learnt  now  that  his  own  untram- 
melled will  was  no  longer  the  sole  shaper  of  his  course. 

It  was  not  likely  that  his  wife's  development  under  the 
influence  of  sudden  and  then  increasing  wealth  should  have 
followed  the  same  course  as  his.  Her  interests  had  scope 
in  what  to  him  was  only  the  permanent  and  unchanging 
background  of  his  life,  his  own  vital  interests  lying  quite 
apart  from  it.  In  their  second  home,  where  she  was  able 
to  throw  off  the  constant  burdensome  anxieties  of  the  days 
of  their  poverty,  she  began  to  make  a  life  for  herself.  She 
was  still  young,  rather  handsome,  rather  stupid,  but  very 
eager  for  her  place  in  the  sun.  She  was  domestic  enough 
to  find  her  chief  pleasure  in  looking  after  her  children 
and  her  house,  but  she  also  enjoyed  the  intercourse  that 
she  had  with  the  people  who  inhabited  similar  houses  to 


ARMITAGE  BROWN  67 

their  own  around  them.  She  made  no  intimate  friends, 
and  what  real  sociability  she  had  in  her  expended  itself 
upon  her  own  and  her  husband's  immediate  relations.  What 
she  liked  was  the  mechanism  of  sociability,  the  "  calls," 
the  "  At  Home  "  days,  the  formal  gatherings.  For  these 
she  dressed  herself  and  decked  her  house. 

When  they  moved  to  "  The  Towers,"  her  life  expanded 
largely,  but  was  still  contained  within  limits  essentially 
narrow.  Her  children  were  older  now,  and  she  left  them 
a  good  deal  with  nurses  and  governesses.  When  she  learnt 
that  she  was  at  liberty  to  spend  what  to  her  was  unlimited 
money,  she  gave  herself  seriously  to  the  question  of  dress. 
There  was  hardly  a  day  in  the  week  in  which  she  did 
not  drive  into  London  to  "  shop."  The  hours  she  spent 
with  dressmakers  and  milliners  were  the  stirring  hours  of 
her  life.  And  she  spent  much  money  on  expensive  appoint- 
ments for  the  house,  but  never  bought  anything  of  real 
artistic  value. 

"  The  Towers  "  was  in  quite  another  quarter  from  that 
in  which  they  had  lived  formerly,  and  she  dropped  all  her 
old  acquaintances  completely,  and  filled  their  places  with 
the  people  who  at  that  time  lived  in  Hillgrove.  This  was 
not  out  of  snobbery,  from  which  she  was  comparatively 
free,  but  simply  because  a  circle  of  acquaintance  was 
necessary  in  order  to  exercise  the  pseudo-social  activities 
that  went  with  such  a  house  as  "  The  Towers."  The  people 
who  lived  in  similar,  or  rather  smaller,  houses  immediately 
around  were  those  amongst  whom  she  must  now  play  her 
part  and  her  former  acquaintances  were  cut.  She  wanted 
friendships  as  little  as  before. 

Armitage  Brown  had  bought  "  The  Towers  "  when  Hill- 
grove  had  already  begun  to  deteriorate  as  a  residential 
suburb.  Through  the  years  that  followed,  one  by  one  the 
larger  houses  disappeared,  to  make  way  for  the  streets 


68  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

of  small  houses  that  were  Hillgrove's  ultimate  fate.  The 
wastage  of  people  whom  Mrs.  Brown  could  ask  to  her 
house,  and  to  whose  houses  she  could  go,  went  on  very 
fast,  and  she  had  absolutely  no  reserves  on  which  to  draw 
elsewhere.  It  was  a  very  rare  thing  for  her  husband  to 
bring  a  business  friend  home  with  him,  and  if  he  occasion- 
ally dined  with  one  of  them  in  London,  he  did  not  take 
her  with  him.  Not  for  years  did  she  enter  a  house  as  large 
as  her  own,  or  indeed  any  house  belonging  to  rich  people, 
outside  Hillgrove. 

When  they  had  lived  at  "  The  Towers  "  for  about  twelve 
years  they  went  to  the  Riviera  for  a  holiday.  It  was  the 
first  time  that  either  of  them  had  ever  been  abroad;  and 
it  was  the  first  time  that  Armitage  Brown  had  ever  enjoyed 
a  holiday  since  his  boyhood.  His  enjoyment  was  of  a  mild 
enough  order.  He  liked  the  sunshine,  and  the  bright  life, 
and  the  change  of  food.  He  was  just  beginning  to  feel 
ever  so  slightly  the  strain  that  his  unremitting  concentra- 
tion upon  business  had  brought  him.  He  was  in  the  mood 
to  lie  fallow  for  a  few  weeks. 

But  to  his  wife  the  experience  was  a  revelation  of  what 
life  might  be.  The  clothes  alone  would  have  filled  her 
mind.  She  had  always  been  a  peacock  amongst  jackdaws, 
or  at  best  amongst  pheasants.  She  had  dressed  herself 
from  fashion  papers  and  show  windows,  not  from  other 
women.  But  here  there  was  something  to  observe,  some- 
thing to  emulate.  And  she  saw  how  much  she  had  yet  to 
learn.  Strong  ambition  awoke  in  her.  She  had  the  figure, 
and  the  type  of  face,  and  the  genius  for  it;  and,  of  course, 
the  money.  Another  year,  if  they  came  to  this  place — 
and  she  was  determined  that  they  would — she  would  shine 
in  it  as  brightly  as  she  had  shone  amongst  the  women  of 
Hillgrove. 

They    made    some    acquaintances    at    the    smart    hotel 


ARMITAGE  BROWN  69 

in  which  they  stayed.  Her  husband  made  them  more 
readily  than  she  did.  He  was  already  known  as  a  rich 
man,  and  a  rich  man  has  no  difficulty  in  making  acquaint- 
ances. The  men  with  whom  he  went  over  to  Monte  Carlo, 
or  with  whom  he  smoked  and  talked  in  the  lounge  of 
the  hotel,  or  on  the  terrace  overlooking  the  sea,  found 
him  companionable.  He  was  interesting  on  his  own  sub- 
ject, and  as  his  own  subject  was  money  there  were  plenty 
glad  enough  to  listen  to  him. 

With  her  it  was  different.  She  had  no  warmth  of  nature 
to  make  up  for  her  total  lack  of  experience  of  the  sort  of 
life  lived  by  the  women  with  whom  she  foregathered.  She 
had  the  sense  to  use  a  large  silence  and  to  learn  much  from 
their  talk.  But  her  silence  did  not  commend  her  to  them, 
and  whenever  she  did  speak  she  stamped  herself  as  sub- 
urban, or  else  as  a  stiff  bore.  The  men  who  were  inclined 
to  cultivate  her  because  of  her  good  looks  found  her  quite 
irresponsive.  She  wanted  notice,  but  not  the  sort  of  notice 
that  demands  any  return. 

The  net  result  of  this1  visit  was  a  door  opened  to  her  in 
Prince's  Gate  and  another  in  Kensington  Palace  Gardens; 
and  she  and  her  husband  spent  a  Sunday  in  August  in  a 
house  that  one  of  their  new  acquaintances  had  taken  on 
the  Thames. 

Next  year  they  went  South  again,  and  Armitage  Brown 
bought  a  villa  at  Cap  Martin.  He  bought  it  just  as  it 
stood,  furniture  and  all,  and  paid  a  price  for  it  that  made 
talk  when  it  leaked  out.  They  had  dined  in  it  one  evening, 
and  sat  out  on  the  terrace  after  dinner  amongst  the  orange 
trees,  looking  over  the  moonlit  sea  to  the  fairy  lights  of 
Monte  Carlo.  What  little  romance  Armitage  Brown  re- 
tained in  him  was  stirred.  Such  a  place  as  this  would  be 
much  more  agreeable  to  retire  to  for  a  rest  than  a  noisy 
hotel.  And  they  could  have  the  children  there,  and  they 


70  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

and  his  wife  could  live  there  for  a  few  months  every  year 
instead  of  a  few  weeks,  while  he  went  backwards  and 
forwards. 

He  asked  his  host,  whom  he  knew  in  business,  whether 
he  would  sell  the  villa.  His  host  laughed  at  him  and  said 
he  had  only  just  bought  and  furnished  it.  He  offered  him 
a  high  price  for  immediate  possession,  which  was  refused. 
He  offered  him  a  much  higher  price,  which  was  also  refused, 
with  some  irritation.  He  offered  him  an  extravagant  price, 
which  was  accepted.  His  friend  walked  out  and  he  walked 
in,  taking  over  the  staff  of  servants  and  everything  in  the 
villa  except  the  clothes  of  its  former  occupants.  Then  he 
went  home  to  England  and  brought  out  the  children,  while 
his  wife  slowly  woke  up  to  the  fact  that  a  new  era  had 
commenced  for  her. 

She  was  completely  happy  in  it.  Dull-witted  as  she 
was,  she  quickly  and  instinctively  learnt  what  was  expected 
of  her.  She  had  nothing  to  offer  except  lavish  entertaining, 
but  that  she  offered,  and  it  was  enough.  She  was  shy  of 
small  parties,  in  which  she  would  have  to  talk  and  show 
the  hollowness  of  her  sociability.  But  if  she  could  ask 
people  in  numbers  big  enough  to  amuse  themselves  she 
understood  how  to  do  all  the  rest.  The  easy-going  crowd 
ate  her  elaborate  dinners,  and  praised  them.  This  praise, 
coming  to  her  ears,  made  her  happy. 

"  The  Towers  "  was  dull  after  Cap  Martin.  The  savour 
had  gone  out  of  her  suburban  entertainments,  to  which 
she  had  great  difficulty  in  attracting  her  newer  acquaint- 
ance. She  asked  her  husband  to  move  to  a  house  in  London. 
It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  initiated  any  desire  of 
her  own,  having  been  content  hitherto  to  act  within  the 
limits  he  had  assigned  her,  and  he  refused,  in  some  surprise 
that  the  request  should  be  made.  By  and  by  he  asked 
her  why  she  had  made  it,  and  then  told  her  that  he  had 


ARMITAGE  BROWN  71 

no  intention  of  giving  up  his  leisure  to  a  round  of  dull 
gaieties1.  He  did  not  mind  while  they  were  at  the  villa — 
he  had  nothing  much  to  do  there — but  when  he  came  home 
from  his  work  in  the  City  he  wanted  to  be  quiet,  to  stroll 
and  sit  in  his  garden,  to  eat  his  dinner,  and  go  to  bed 
early.  "  The  Towers  "  suited  him.  He  had  no  idea  of 
giving  it  up. 

She  accepted  his  decision,  but  looked  forward  to  its 
alteration  some  day,  from  force  of  circumstances.  She 
saw  the  trend  of  things  in  what  affected  her  as  clearly 
as  he  did  in  the  realm  of  finance.  She  had  a  clearer  idea 
than  he  of  what  an  attraction  his  wealth  was  to  all  sorts 
of  people  whom  he  made  no  effort  to  attract.  She  also 
saw,  which  he  as  yet  did  not,  that  as  he  became  increasingly 
known,  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  bury  himself 
outside  his  hours  of  business  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
year.  She  endured,  and  bided  her  time. 

It  had  now  arrived.  Armitage  Brown  was  a  name  in 
everybody's  mouth.  Its  owner  must  take  the  place  in 
the  world  that  was  expected  of  him.  It  seemed  a  natural 
step  in  the  great  campaign  to  which  he  had  committed 
himself,  although  in  its  earlier  stages  he  had  not  thought 
that  it  would  involve  his  private  life. 


CHAPTER  VI 
HILLGROVE    TOWERS 

IT  was  a  family  party  that  sat  about  the  tea-table  at 
Hillgrove  Towers  on  that  Sunday  afternoon.  Armitage 
Brown,  with  his  stubby  dark  moustache  and  his  rather 
heavy  face,  was  of  the  type  that  always  looks  middle-aged. 
He  was  still  a  few  years  short  of  fifty,  but  had  not  changed 
much  in  appearance  during  the  last  ten  or  fifteen  years, 
and  would  not  change  much  for  ten  or  fifteen  years  more. 
The  look  of  grim  power  which  his  face  wore  during  his 
business  hours  was  absent  from  it  when  he  was  at  home. 
He  did  not  usually  even  take  the  lead  in  conversation.  He 
was  content  to  leave  that  to  his  son  and  daughter.  But 
he  was  undoubtedly  master  in  his  own  house,  as  he  was 
master  in  most  positions  in  which  he  found  himself. 

His  son,  Alfred,  had  reached  the  age  of  five-and-twenty 
in  a  manner  agreeable  enough  to  himself,  but  somewhat 
disappointing  to  his  father.  He  had  some  of  his  mother's 
good  looks,  and  some  of  her  tranquillity  of  manner ;  but 
his  face  was  intelligent  and  alert,  and  he  was  ready  with 
his  tongue,  which  she  had  never  been. 

He  had  been  sent,  as  a  day  boy,  to  a  private  school  at 
Hillgrove,  being  taken  away  from  it  during  the  Riviera 
sojourns  and  sent  back  again  on  the  return  to  England. 
A  public  school  education  had  not  been  within  his  father's 
experience  or  designs  at  this  time,  but  after  desultory 
years  under  tutors,  and  in  "  families  "  in  Switzerland  and 
Germany,  he  had  been  sent  to  Cambridge.  This  had  suited 
him  admirably,  but  his  previous  lack  of  steady  training, 

72 


HILLGROVE  TOWERS  73 

and  his  inexperience  in  English  games  and  sports,  had 
not  prepared  him  for  any  very  strenuous  life  there.  He 
went  through  his  three  years  as  an  amiable  slacker,  but 
developed  a  taste  for  the  arts.  He  sang,  and  played 
the  piano,  quite  nicely,  acted  at  the  "  A.  D.  C.,"  dabbled 
in  water-colours,  and  contributed  to  various  undergraduate 
journals.  He  was  clever  in  everything  he  took  up,  but 
lacked  application  in  everything. 

When  he  left  Cambridge,  after  a  very  long  Long  Vaca- 
tion, he  was  introduced  to  a  stool  in  his  father's  office. 
But  that  was  a  failure  from  the  very  first,  and  he  only 
occupied  it  for  a  year.  Then  he  read  for  the  bar, 
but  professed  himself  sick  of  the  law  in  a  few 
months,  and  proposed  to  become  an  artist.  He  went  to 
Paris,  enjoyed  himself  exceedingly,  but  did  very  little 
work,  having  soon  discovered  that  no  amount  of  work 
was  likely  to  lead  him  anywhere.  He  developed  a  taste 
for  writing  short  stories  in  the  French  manner,  one  or 
two  of  which  were  published  in  English  magazines.  That 
was  the  stage  which  he  had  now  reached.  He  was  en- 
gaged in  literature,  and  might  have  been  engaged  to  some 
purpose  if  he  had  had  to  make  his  living  out  of  it. 

His  failure  to  follow  in  his  father's  footsteps  had  not 
seriously  disturbed  Armitage  Brown.  His  business  was 
not  a  great  organization  that  would  need  a  successor.  It 
was  almost  entirely  personal  to  himself,  and  would  dis- 
appear on  his  death  or  retirement,  if  there  were  nobody 
with  similar  gifts  to  his  to  carry  it  on.  As  his  son  was 
obviously  lacking  in  those  gifts,  it  was  waste  of  time  to 
train  him  to  the  work.  Much  less  than  a  year  showed 
up  the  unlikelihood  of  his  ever  making  money  on  his  own 
account,  and  as  there  was  no  actual  necessity  for  him  to 
make  money,  he  was  only  kept  at  it  for  that  time  to  make 
quite  certain  of  his  inability.  After  that  his  father  did 


74  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

not  care  much  what  he  did,  as  long  as  he  did  something. 
The  traditions  in  which  he  himself  had  been  brought  up 
demanded  that,  but  he  did  not  adhere  to  them  very  strictly. 
He  was  quite  aware  by  this  time  that  any  work  his  son 
might  be  doing  was  only  a  pretence.  He  had  left  off 
expecting  anything  of  him,  except  perhaps  that  he  should 
comport  himself  fittingly  as  the  son  of  a  very  rich  man, 
upon  whom  whatever  fame  or  honour  he  himself  might 
attain  to  would  eventually  descend. 

It  was  not  an  arduous  part  to  play,  but  unfortunately 
Alfred  showed  no  greater  capacity  for  it  than  he  had  shown 
for  the  intricacies  of  finance.  He  had  no  fixed  allowance, 
but  was  encouraged  to  ask  for  any  money  that  he  might 
want.  He  asked  for  very  little  in  comparison  with  what 
he  might  have  had.  If  he  was  not  much  of  an  artist,  he 
was  an  expert  in  getting  all  the  fun  possible  out  of  an 
artist's  life,  which  does  not  involve  the  spending  of  a  great 
deal  of  money.  He  wandered  about  the  Continent  of 
Europe  a  good  deal,  very  often  on  foot,  and  shunned  the 
places  frequented  by  the  rich.  He  could  very  seldom  be 
induced  to  visit  the  villa  at  Cap  Martin,  but  stayed  fre- 
quently for  weeks  together  at  "  The  Towers,"  for  he  was 
fond  of  his  parents  and  of  his  sister,  and  was  little  dis- 
turbed in  his  private  pursuits  there. 

He  was  a  greater  disappointment  to  his  mother  than 
to  his  father.  He  was  a  very  presentable  young  man, 
and  she  would  have  liked  to  drag  him  about  with  her 
and  show  him  off,  incidentally  relieving  herself  of  the 
burden  of  talk,  which  was  the  one  fly  in  the  ointment 
of  her  activities.  But  he  looked  upon  her  life  with  abso- 
lute horror,  though  his  affection  for  her  and  his  good- 
humoured  tolerance  of  all  eccentricities  prevented  his 
showing  it  in  any  way  that  might  have  wounded  her. 
He  chaffed  her  about  it,  and  she  took  the  chaff  without 


HILLGROVE  TOWERS  75 

resenting  it,  or  perhaps  understanding  it.  They  were  good 
friends,  but  she  felt  that  he  did  her  no  credit,  when  he 
might  have  done  her  so  much. 

Her  daughter,  Katharine,  did  her  none  either.  She 
was  a  year  young  than  Alfred,  but  seemed  older.  In 
appearance  she  took  after  her  father,  who  had  neither 
the  build  nor  the  features  that  would  translate  themselves 
into  feminine  beauty.  She  was  short  and  square,  and  if 
the  truth  must  be  confessed,  plain.  But  she  had  a  lively, 
energetic  way  with  her,  and  was  a  general  favourite — 
would  have  been  so  even  if  she  had  not  been  known  as 
the  daughter  of  a  millionaire. 

She  had  a  good  head  too.  If  she  had  been  born  the 
boy  and  Alfred  the  girl  she  might  very  well  have  fulfilled 
all  her  father's  hopes,  and  Alfred  would  at  least  have 
afforded  a  figure  to  which  his  mother  might  have  extended 
her  own  taste  in  dress.  It  was  heart-breaking  work  trying 
to  dress  Katie.  She  looked  just  the  same  in  anything, 
and  had  no  taste  whatever  of  her  own  for  clothes.  It 
was  some  consolation  to  Mrs.  Brown  that  she  liked  going 
about.  But  that  was  because  she  liked  making  friends, 
which  was  not  the  aim  of  her  mother's  peripatetics.  So 
even  there  there  was  not  much  that  they  had  in  common. 
Mrs.  Brown  sometimes  felt  that  she  had  been  hardly  dealt 
with,  both  in  her  son  and  in  her  daughter.  But  Katie  and 
her  father  got  on  well  together.  She  was  the  only  person 
to  whom  he  sometimes  talked  of  his  business  schemes, 
apart  from  those  who  were  directly  interested  in  them. 

Armitage  Brown's  elder  brother  and  his  wife  made  up 
the  party.  Uncle  James  was  an  active,  cheery  man  of 
about  fifty.  He  had  prospered  in  the  world  to  the  extent 
of  being  able  to  live  in  quite  a  nice  house  at  Reigate, 
drive  a  motor-car,  and  take  at  least  two  days  a  week  off 
his  business  to  play  golf.  He  was  not  in  the  least  jealous 


76  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

of  his  brother's  success,  which  fact  makes  of  him  rather 
a  remarkable  person.  He  sometimes  consulted  him  about 
an  investment,  but  that  was  the  extent  of  their  business 
dealings  with  one  another,  and  they  were  all  the  better 
friends  because  of  it.  His  only  trouble  in  life  was  that 
he  had  no  children. 

His  wife — Aunt  Millie — was  a  bright  little  lady,  very 
well  suited  to  him.  She  was  the  only  person  outside  her 
own  family  for  whom  Mrs.  Armitage  Brown  felt  any 
affection.  She  had  been  kind  to  her  in  the  days  of  her 
poverty,  when  she  herself,  as  a  young  wife,  had  been 
very  much  more  comfortably  situated;  and  Mrs.  Armitage 
had  never  forgotten  it.  She  felt  at  home  with  her,  as 
she  did  with  few  people,  and  showed  at  her  best,  never 
taking  her  stand  upon  the  riches  that  had  heaped  them- 
selves up  around  her,  nor  latterly  upon  the  place  she 
was  making  for  herself  in  a  world  from  which  her  sister- 
in-law  was  cut  off. 

Whether  Aunt  Millie  viewed  the  rise  of  a  woman  so 
inferior  to  herself  in  character  or  intelligence  with  the 
complete  equanimity  displayed  by  her  husband  in  the  case 
of  his  brother  may  be  doubted.  But  she  showed  as  little 
jealousy  as  he  did,  unless  jealousy  was  shown  by  her 
steadfastly  refusing  to  receive  anything  from  the  hands  of 
her  sister-in-law  that  she  could  not  return. 

Poor  relations!  Judged  by  the  standard  of  Armitage 
Brown's  great  wealth,  Uncle  James  and  Aunt  Millie  were 
poor  relations.  It  is  a  difficult  part  to  play,  but  they 
played  it  so  well  that  their  course  of  life  was  almost  as 
much  an  achievement  in  its  way  as  his  was.  They  were 
always  welcome  at  "  The  Towers,"  and  their  rich  relations 
liked  going  to  them  at  Reigate,  and  in  fact  went  there 
more  often  than  to  any  other  house. 

They    were    talking    of    the    coming    changes.     Alfred, 


HILLGROVE  TOWERS  77 

stretching  his  long  legs  from  a  low  chair,  his  teacup  in 
his  hand,  was  treating  them  in  a  spirit  of  levity  which 
his  mother  felt  to  be  in  questionable  taste,  but  had  no 
weapons  to  silence. 

"  We  are  going  to  blossom  out  as  lords  of  the  soil,"  he 
said.  "  Our  men-at-arms  have  dislodged  the  defenders  of 
the  bold  Marquis,  and  the  banner  of  the  Browns  now  floats 
proudly  from  the  battlements.  I've  forgotten  what  device 
it  bears,  but  it  will  show  up  very  well." 

"  Alfred  is  talking  his  usual  nonsense,"  explained  Mrs. 
Brown.  "  Kemsale  is  not  an  ancient  castle.  But  it  is  a 
very  large  house  and  will  take  a  great  deal  of  furnishing." 

"  It  has  about  sixty  bedrooms,"  said  Alfred.  "  It's  just 
the  house  we've  been  looking  for.  We  hate  feeling  cramped. 
We  shall  be  able  to  find  you  a  corner  sometimes,  Aunt 
Millie." 

"  I  was  wondering,  dear,  whether  you  would  care  to 
come  down  with  me  to  help  get  the  house  in  order,"  said 
Mrs.  Brown.  "  They  will  begin  to  pack  up  here  next 
week,  but  I  shall  send  most  of  the  servants  down,  and 
there  is  enough  furniture  still  in  the  house  for  you  and 
me  and  Katie  to  be  able  to  picnic  there  till  the  rest  comes. 
And  we  shall  be  able  to  see  what  more  is  wanted  and  come 
up  and  buy  it." 

Aunt  Millie  considered  for  a  moment.  The  prospect 
would  have  been  alluring  to  any  woman — a  large  house 
to  furnish  and  unlimited  money  to  do  it  with.  Would 
she  be  departing  in  any  way  from  her  rule  by  accepting 
the  invitation? 

Alfred  broke  in  before  she  could  reply.  "  My  dear 
mother !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  can't  possibly  do  it.  Think 
what  you  owe  to  the  county !  Supposing  the  vicar  were 
to  call  and  find  you  on  your  knees  with  a  duster  in  your 
hand;  cleaning  out  the  cellarette !  " 


78 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  Alfred,"  his  mother  rebuked  him. 
"  Many  of  the  rooms  are  completely  furnished,  and  of 
course  there  will  be  servants  to  do  all  the  actual  work.  We 
shall  only  have  to  see  where  the  things  from  here  are  to 
be  put,  and  what  more  is  wanted.  I  hope  you  will  be 
able  to  come,  Millie.  If  it  is  fine,  I  should  propose  to 
motor  down  on  Tuesday  week.  We  should  be  there  quite 
alone,  and  of  course  nobody  would  be  admitted  to  the 
house." 

Aunt  Millie  said  she  would  come  if  James  would  do 
without  her;  and  James,  who  had  been  talking  to  his 
brother,  said  that  he  should  enjoy  a  bachelor  existence  for 
a  week,  or  even  longer. 

"  I  read  about  the  sale,"  he  said.  "  Some  of  the  things 
fetched  enormous  prices.  Did  you  buy  much  there, 
Armitage  ?  " 

Armitage  Brown  never  answered  a  direct  question  with- 
out considering  what  his  answer  should  be.  His  wife 
replied  to  this  one.  "  Armitage  wanted  to  buy  everything 
as  it  stood,"  she  said,  "  as  we  did  with  Les  Glycines.  It 
would  have  saved  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  he  was 
prepared  to  pay  any  price  that  might  have  been  asked. 
But  when  I  saw  how  the  house  was  furnished  I  was  not 
altogether  sorry  that  the  offer  had  been  refused.  We  can 
do  better  than  that." 

Alfred  laughed.  "  I  paid  a  surreptitious  visit  to  the 
future  home  of  our  ancestors,"  he  said,  "  while  the  sale 
was  going  on.  Nobody  knew  that  I  was  the  rightful  heir 
in  disguise,  except  the  gentleman  who  was  bidding  for 
us.  By  the  by,  father,  I  told  him  to  buy  one  or  two  little 
pictures  I  thought  rather  nice.  I  thought  you  wouldn't 
mind." 

"  I  don't  mind,  Alfred,"  said  his  father.     "  If  you  had 


HILLGROVE  TOWERS  79 

x 

done  what  I  asked,,  you  would  have  gone  down  before,  and 

picked  out  anything  that  was  worth  having." 

"  I  rather  wished  I  had  when  I  got  there.  I  had  no 
idea  what  the  house  contained,  though  all  the  very  valuable 
things  had  already  been  sold  at  Christie's." 

"  Everything  was  very  old-fashioned,"  said  Mrs.  Brown. 
"  Handsome,  of  course,  a  great  deal  of  it,  but  to  my  mind 
the  best  modern  furniture  is  far  preferable.  What  we  have 
here  will  brighten  the  house  up  wonderfully,  but  it  will  not 
go  very  far,  and  there  will  be  a  lot  that  we  must  get." 

She  spoke  with  deep  satisfaction.  She  had  a  glorious 
time  in  front  of  her,  with  an  excuse  for  plunging  deep  into 
the  rich  stores  of  the  most  modern  furnishing  shops.  Her 
perceptions,  which  had  mastered  the  art  of  dress  and  the 
presentation  of  food,  had  not  yet  led  her  to  any  under- 
standing of  what  was  considered  "  the  thing  "  in  furnish- 
ing. That  was  all  that  she  really  cared  about,  but  she 
cared  about  it  so  much  that  if  she  had  realized  that  the 
age  of  admiration  for  new  gilt  splendour  was  over  she 
would  have  despised  it  herself  as  sincerely  as  anybody, 
and  speedily  acquired  a  taste  more  in  accordance  with 
the  time. 

Aunt  Millie,  who,  although  quite  content  with  the  modern 
furnishing  of  her  own  house,  had  absorbed  some  of  the 
prevailing  appreciation  of  old  good  things,  thought  it  sur- 
prising that  her  sister-in-law,  with  her  larger  opportunities, 
should  have  acquired  none  of  it.  But  Mrs.  Brown's  oppor- 
tunities had  been  curiously  limited,  and  her  observation 
was  as  sluggish  as  possible  except  where  her  emulation 
was  aroused,  and  then  it  was  acute.  She  had  got  as  far  as 
big  sofas  and  easy-chairs  covered  with  loose  gay  chintzes, 
instead  of  tight  satin  and  plush,  but  that  was  about  the 
limit  of  her  newly-acquired  taste.  The  room  in  which 
they  were  sitting  had  these,  and  an  abundance  of  flowers 


80  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

besides,  but  it  also  had  a  large  gilt  consol-table,  crimson 
silk  curtains  under  heavy  gilt  cornices,  and  for  ornament, 
marble  statuettes,  great  vases  of  modern  china,  and  clocks 
and  candlesticks  of  elaborate  ormolu.  She  had  seen  with 
amazement  the  beautiful  restful  rooms  at  Kemsale,  in 
which  the  more  intimate  daily  life  had  been  lived  for  gen- 
erations. Her  eye  had  entirely  failed  to  take  in  their 
high  subdued  values.  They  had  contained  none  of  the 
things  which  she  regarded  as  necessary  for  rich  furnishing 
— no  gilt,  very  little  mirror,  no  bright  colour.  Indeed, 
she  "  could  do  better  than  that !  " 

"  I  liked  the  house  as  it  was,"  said  Armitage  Brown 
quietly.  "  And  there  must  have  been  a  lot  of  valuable 
stuff  in  it,  judging  by  what  it  fetched.  But  I  leave  these 
things  to  the  wife.  She  knows  a  good  deal  more  about 
them  than  I  do." 

He  spoke  with  a  smile,  and  without  the  least  intention 
of  sarcasm.  He  thought  that  she  did  know  better  than 
he  did  in  such  matters,  and  did  not  care  enough  about 
them  to  press  his  own  mild  preference  for  more  sober 
surroundings. 

"  But  you  bought  a  good  deal,  didn't  you?  "  asked 
Uncle  James. 

"  We  bought  a  lot  of  the  bedroom  furniture  exactly  as 
it  stood,"  said  Mrs.  Brown — "  the  rooms  that  had  been 
most  recently  refurnished.  They  will  do  very  well  for 
the  present,  and  I  can  furbish  them  up  by  degrees.  There 
were  such  a  lot  of  them  that  it  would  not  have  been  very 
amusing  to  take  them  all  in  hand  at  once.  And  Armitage 
liked  the  library  as  it  was.  We  bought  that." 

"  Ah,  then  we  shall  have  something  to  read,"  said  Alfred. 
"  That's  encouraging." 

"  We  did  not  buy  the  books,"  said  his  mother.  "  They 
were  mostly  old  and  shabby." 


HILLGROVE  TOWERS  81 

"  I  did  tell  them  to  buy  most  of  them/'  said  Her  husband. 
"  The  shelves  must  be  filled  with  something." 

"  Oh,  well,  we  can  have  the  oldest  of  them  rebound." 

Katie  spoke  for  the  first  time.  "  I  don't  believe  th'e 
house  will  be  half  as  nice  as  it  was,"  she  said  sturdily. 
"  I'm  a  very  modern  person  myself,  but  I  do  like  old 
things,  when  they  seem  to  belong.  I've  got  two  lovely 
rooms  of  my  own,  Aunt  Millie.  I  think  they  belonged 
to  Lady  Grace  Ettien.  They  were  delightfully  furnished, 
in  an  old-fashioned  faded  sort  of  way.  I  knew  I  could 
never  get  them  so  nice  again,  so  I  asked  father  if  he  would 
buy  everything  in  them  and  leave  them  exactly  as  they  were. 
I  don't  think  they  contained  anything  very  valuable." 

Her  father  smiled  at  her.  "  They  were  the  two  most 
expensive  rooms  in  the  house,"  he  said.  "  I  paid  a  fortune 
for  them.  But  I  don't  mind  if  you  like  them,  my  dear !  " 

She  expressed  her  surprise.  "  I  am  sure  there  was 
nothing  there  that  ought  to  have  cost  a  lot,"  she  said. 
"  However,  if  they  did,  I  shall  like  them  all  the  better." 

"  A  chip  of  the  old  block,"  said  Alfred.  "  Perhaps  Lady 
Grace  Ettien  wanted  them  herself,  and  ran  them  up." 

"If  she  had  wanted  them  they  wouldn't  have  been  there 
for  sale,"  said  his  father.  "  I  believe  there  was  a  mistake 
about  a  pair  of  drawings,  but  those  they  seem  to  have  got. 
I  was  worried  about  them  in  the  middle  of  the  sale.  I 
had  given  my  instructions,  and  I  was  annoyed.  My  people 
wanted  to  enter  into  a  lot  of  explanations  afterwards,  but 
I  wouldn't  have  it.  You  didn't  want  the  drawings  par- 
ticularly, did  you,  Katie?  " 

"I  rather  liked  them;  but  I  suppose  they  are  family 
portraits.  I  can  do  without  them." 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  have  the  house  done  up  before 
you  go  in  ?  "  asked  LTncle  James. 

"  We  thought  we  would  wait  until  we  go  to  Cap  Martin," 


82  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHAXGETH 

said  Mrs.  Brown.  "  Then  we  shall  know  better  what  is 
wanted.  Besides,  Armitage  wants  to  sell  '  The  Towers  ' 
now,  and  we  must  have  somewhere  to  go." 

"  I've  got  an  offer  that  isn't  likely  to  be  repeated,"  said 
Armitage.  "  They're  going  to  cut  it  up  for  building.  If 
they  can't  have  this  place  at  once,  they'll  buy  another." 

He  spoke  without  a  shade  of  feeling  of  the  place  that 
had  been  his  home  for  nearly  twenty  years.  But  Mrs. 
Brown  showed  some.  "  Hillgrove  has  become  impossible," 
she  said.  "  It  is  quite  time  we  left  it." 

Alfred  sighed.  "  Hillgrove  suits  me,"  he  said.  "  I  am 
so  afraid  I  shall  fail  in  my  behaviour  at  Kemsale.  Will 
the  heir  of  all  the  Browns  be  expected  to  hunt,  father? 
They  do  that  in  the  country,  don't  they — foxes,  and  stags, 
and  things  ?  " 

What  a  disappointing  son  this  was!  His  mother  would 
have  liked  him  to  hunt — in  a  well-fitting  red  coat. 

"  Any  golf  links  handy  ?  "  asked  Uncle  James. 

"  No,  but  I  am  going  to  lay  some  out  in  the  park,"  said 
his  brother.  "  I  am  going  to  take  up  golf  myself." 

This  was  entirely  a  new  departure.  "  I  want  exercise," 
he  explained.  "  I  shall  give  it  a  trial.  You  must  come 
down  and  teach  us,  James." 

"  Not  me,"  said  Alfred.  "  I  refuse  to  play  that  debasing 
game.  Father,  you  must  buy  me  a  horse,  and  I  will  ride 
him  in  secret  until  I  know  how.  Then  I  will  go  out  and 
hunt  the  fox.  I  feel  quite  sure  that  that  will  be  ex- 
pected of  me." 

"  Do  you  know  any  people  in  the  neighbourhood?  "  asked 
Uncle  James. 

"  There  were  a  Captain  and  Mrs.  Clinton  who  had  the 
villa  next  to  Les  Glycines  last  year,"  said  Mrs.  Brown. 
"She  was  rather  delicate,  and  I  did  not  see  much  of  her; 


HILLGROVE  TOWERS  83 

but  they  dined  with  us  once.  They  live  a  few  miles  off. 
I  believe  he  is  some  connection  of  Lord  Meadshire's." 

"  Lord  Meadshire  is  still  living  at  Kemsale,  isn't  he?  " 

"  His  sister  is.  I  don't  know  whether  he  is  going  to 
live  with  her." 

"I  believe  he  is  what  is  called  a  rotter,"  said  Alfred. 
"But  it  is  to  be  expected  that  the  county  will  rally  to 
him.  The  ancient  and  baronial  family  of  Brown  will 
have  to  be  very  careful  how  it  behaves." 

"  You  talk  great  nonsense,  Alfred,"  said  his  mother. 
"  We  shall  have  our  own  circle.  We  shall  not  be  depend- 
ent upon  the  people  around,  though  we  shall  be  quite 
ready  to  make  friends  with  them." 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  English  country  life,"  said 
Alfred.  "  But  I  should  say  it  would  be  more  a  question 
of  their  making  friends  with  us.  We  are  rich  but  new, 
and  they  are  reported  to  look  with  suspicion  on  the 
combination." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  we  shall  find  plenty  of  people  to  make 
friends  with,"  said  Katie.  "  And  at  any  rate  there  will 
be  the  villagers.  It  will  all  be  perfectly  delightful." 


CHAPTER  VII 
A  MOMENTOUS  INTERVIEW 

THE  new  millionaire  did  not  take  up  his  residence  at  Kem- 
sale, after  all,  until  the  late  spring.  Mrs.  Brown  found 
that  the  house  needed  a  great  deal  more  "  doing  up  "  than 
she  had  supposed.  Electric  light  had  to  be  installed, 
drains  overhauled,  plumbing  modernized  everywhere,  bath- 
rooms added.  And  painting  and  decorating  was  needed 
throughout,  according  to  her  standards,  and  must  precede 
furnishing,  unless  the  work  should  be  all  done  over  again, 
in  an  intolerable  muddle. 

When  she  came  to  a  practically  empty  house,  instead  of 
one  that  contained  the  accumulations  of  two  hundred  years, 
she  found  herself  out  of  her  depth.  The  furniture  from 
"  The  Towers  "  hardly  seemed  to  count,  in  the  enormous 
and  repeated  spaces  of  Kemsale,  nor  did  the  large  pur- 
chases that  they  had  made  at  Kemsale  itself.  And  the 
idea  of  expecting  necessary  adaptations  and  structural  dec- 
orations of  such  a  house  to  be  finished  in  two  months  was 
seen  to  be  quite  impracticable.  It  would  be  nearly  a  year's 
work  to  reconstitute  Kemsale  afresh.  The  builders  and 
decorators  were  given  six  months ;  they  charged  heavily 
for  the  speeding  up,  but  fulfilled  their  contract. 

The  Browns  took  a  furnished  house  in  London  for  the 
winter,  and  until  they  went  to  Cap  Martin  after  Christmas 
Mrs.  Brown  was  engag%d  nearly  all  the  time  with  the  firm 
of  upholsterers  to  whom  she  had  committed  herself.  She 
learnt  a  good  deal  during  those  weeks,  and  began  to  be 
doubtful  about  her  wisdom  in  allowing  so  much  that  had 

84 


A   MOMENTOUS   INTERVIEW  S3 

been  in  Kemsale  to  go  out  of  it.  But  suggestions  were 
naturally  made  with  diffidence  to  a  lady  who  hardly  ever 
asked  the  price  of  anything  except  to  fix  upon  something 
that  cost  more,  and  the  firm  was  quite  willing  to  adapt  its 
taste  to  hers  when  she  made  it  known  what  her  taste  was. 
Besides,  she  was  worth  an  extra  one  per  cent,  dividend  to 
the  shareholders  in  buying  at  full  price  the  most  expensive 
things  out  of  stock  that  had  been  superseded,  and  was 
cumbering  up  warehouses.  Kemsale  was  the  last  very  large 
private  house  to  be  elaborately  furnished  and  decorated  in 
Victorian  style.  Even  hotels  now  wanted  their  Tudor  and 
Jacobean  and  Georgian  chambers.  The  presiding  genius 
of  the  firm,  when  he  learned  what  a  big  business  this  was 
going  to  be,  took  the  matter  in  hand  himself,  and  derived 
a  great  deal  of  interest — and  profit — from  evolving  a 
definite  idea  out  of  the  chaos  of  the  Victorian  style.  When 
all  the  work  was  finished  he  went  down  to  Kemsale  and 
chuckled  over  the  result,  walking  through  the  blue  drawing- 
room,  and  the  pink  drawing-room,  and  the  yellow  drawing- 
room,  and  the  other  shrines  of  his  art.  "  I  don't  believe 
there's  anybody  else  could  have  done  it,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  It  isn't  hideous  at  all.  It  has  character — the  character 
of  the  people  who  are  going  to  live  in  it,  and  a  little  bit 
of  mine."  / 

When  all  the  papers  were  signed  and  all  the  money 
paid  that  transferred  Kemsale  to  its  new  owner,  Captain 
Herbert  Fuller  was  summoned  to  London  for  an  interview 
with  Armitage  Brown.  The  little  man  obeyed  the  sum- 
mons in  nervous  trepidation,  which  the  energetic  prompt- 
ings of  his  wife  to  behave  as  if  he  valued  himself  and 
"  keep  his  end  up "  had  done  little  to  allay.  So  very 
much  hung  upon  that  interview,  and  as  he  sat  in  the 
corner  of  a  third-class  carriage  on  his  way  to  London,  and 
fingered  his  neat  little  grey  moustache,  he  vacillated  be- 


86  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

tween  the  extreme  of  hope  and  the  depths  of  dejection. 
If  only  the  interview  were  over,  and  he  were  coming  back 
again  with  everything  settled,  one  way  or  another !  It 
would  be  a  relief  to  know  the  worst.  He  had  his  full 
share  of  pluck,  and  he  thought  he  could  face  it,  black  as 
it  looked.  But  if  he  should  be  able  to  persuade  this  new 
rich  man,  who  couldn't  be  expected  to  know  much  about 
land  agency,  that  the  natural  thing  for  him  to  do  was  to 
keep  on  the  agent  who  had  looked  after  the  property  for 
the  last  fifteen  years — well,  he  would  have  had  a  fright, 
but  no  man  need  be  the  worse  for  that.  At  any  rate,  he 
would  do  his  best  to  fight  for  his  job,  but  as  he  told  him- 
self so,  he  realized  with  a  sinking  feeling  that  there  was 
not  likely  to  be  much  opportunity  for  fighting.  Such  a 
man  as  he  supposed  Armitage  Brown  to  be  would  probably 
have  made  up  his  mind  already. 

It  was  odd  that  one  man  should  have  so  much  power 
over  the  life  of  another.  To  this  man  whom  he  was  going 
to  see,  the  income  that  would  make  all  the  difference  between 
comparative  affluence  and  desperate  poverty  for  three  people 
represented  nothing  at  all;  and  yet  he  would  take  it  away 
if  it  suited  him  to  do  so  without  a  thought  of  what  its 
withdrawal  would  mean.  How  was  it  that  he,  Herbert 
Fuller,  who  had  worked  diligently  and  faithfully  all  his 
life,  should  be  dependent  upon  the  decision  of  a  man  who 
had  gained  immeasurably  more  for  a  much  shorter  period 
of  work?  He  could  not  quite  make  it  out,  but  there  seemed 
to  be  something  wrong  somewhere. 

He  was  rather  surprised  at  the  appearance  of  the  office 
in  which  such  wealth  as  Armitage  Brown's  was  dealt  with. 
It  was  on  the  first  floor  of  a  narrow  house  in  Lombard 
Street,  and  the  little  outer  room  contained  only  one  clerk, 
and  hardly  room  for  more.  He  was  taken  at  once  into 
the  great  man's  sanctum,  which  was  a  good  deal  larger, 


A   MOMENTOUS   INTERVIEW  87 

but  very  ordinary  in  its  appointments,  and  showing  no 
signs  at  all  of  the  wealth  of  its  owner. 

Armitage  Brown  rose  from  his  desk  to  shake  hands 
with  him,  and  his  secretary  left  the  room  as  he  did  so. 
"  I'm  pleased  to  see  you,  Captain  Fuller,"  he  said.  "  I 
want  to  settle  everything  with  regard  to  the  estate.  I'm 
going  to  America  to-morrow,  and  when  I  get  back  I  shall 
be  too  busy  to  attend  to  it  for  some  time.  I  can  spare 
you  five-and-twenty  minutes." 

Poor  little  Herbert  gasped.  He  had  come  with  a  bagful 
of  papers  and  memoranda,  and  had  expected  to  be  closeted 
with  his  new  employer  for  the  rest  of  the  day  at  least — 
as  a  preliminary. 

Armitage  Brown  had  given  him  a  searching  look  as  he 
shook  hands  with  him.  Probably  in  that  instant  he  had 
summed  him  up,  and  made  up  his  mind  as  to  the  man  he 
had  to  deal  with.  The  capacity  for  forming  lightning 
judgments  of  that  sort  had  been  one  of  the  factors  of 
his  success. 

"  I'm  not  going  into  details,"  he  said,  with  a  glance  at 
the  bag  that  Fuller  was  nursing  on  his  natty  serge-covered 
legs.  "  I'll  ask  you  what  I  want  to  know,  and  you  must 
answer  me  as  concisely  as  you  can.  Then  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  want  done.  What  was  the  net  return  on  the  whole 
property  last  year,  and  the  year  before?" 

How  poor  little  Herbert  blessed  his  life-long  hobby  for 
figures,  during  the  fusillade  of  questions  that  followed !  It 
had  been  his  pleasure  to  take  out  statistics  of  every  sort 
and  kind  connected  with  his  work,  and  with  other  subjects 
in  which  he  was  interested,  and  he  had  sometimes  rebuked 
himself  for  giving  too  much  time  to  them,  where  their 
actual  usefulness  was  questionable.  Armitage  Brown  asked 
many  questions  that  no  man  who  knew  anything  about 
estate  management  would  have  thought  of  asking,  and  no 


88  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

agent  would  have  been  expected  to  answer  off-hand.  But 
Captain  Fuller  answered  them  all,  with  only  an  occasional 
reference  to  a  page  of  his  neat  memoranda;  or,  where 
they  could  not  be  answered,  explained  the  reason  sharply 
and  concisely. 

It  was  exhilarating.  It  reminded  him  of  his  long-past 
days  of  military  viva  voce  examinations.  And  the  man 
who  was  cross-examining  him  had  something  military  in 
his  sharp  direct  manner.  His  own  was  sharp  and  direct 
too,  where  he  was  sure  of  his  ground,  as  he  was  here. 
He  did  not  know  that  his  questioner  felt  an  increasing 
respect  for  him  as  he  sucked  his  brain,  and  made  his  own 
notes  on  the  pad  on  his  desk;  nor  that  his  briskness  was 
causing  him  to  appear  as  a  younger  man  by  ten  years 
than  he  actually  was.  Still  less  had  he  any  idea  that 
the  thought  that  had  passed  through  Armitage  Brown's 
brain,  as  he  had  shaken  hands  with  him  and  thrown  him 
that  searching  look,  was,  "  You  won't  do  at  all.  I  must 
get  rid  of  you.  Too  old,  for  one  thing." 

Armitage  Brown  actually  smiled  at  him  when  he  had 
asked  his  last  question.  "  Well,  you  know  your  work, 
Captain  Fuller,"  he  said,  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

It  was  his  way  to  praise,  with  a  single  short  phrase, 
when  he  was  well  served,  and  to  blame  in  the  same  manner 
when  he  was  not.  But  he  did  not  blame  twice. 

Poor  little  Herbert  felt  as  if  he  could  have  gone  down 
on  his  knees  to  him.  Surely  he  wouldn't  have  said  that 
if  he  had  not  meant  to  keep  him  on. 

As  for  his  knowing  his  work — well,  it  was  rather  like 
the  examination  room  again.  He  had  been  "  put  on " 
in  the  subjects  he  had  got  up.  The  weaknesses  had  been 
left  undisclosed. 

For  there  were  weaknesses,  and  he  knew  them  better 
than  anybody.  He  had  not  been  bred  to  the  work,  nor 


A  MOMENTOUS   INTERVIEW  89 

even  brought  up  in  the  country.  His  knowledge  of  farming 
was  inadequate,  though  he  had  done  his  best  to  improve 
it.  His  first  agency  had  had  to  do  mostly  with  town 
property,  and  he  had  been  lucky  to  get  his  second,  at 
Kemsale.  He  would  hardly  have  kept  it  had  not  the 
Lord  Meadshire  who  gave  it  to  him  been  an  old  and  a 
very  kind-hearted  man,  unwilling  to  make  changes.  And 
he  was  liable  to  be  imposed  upon  by  tenants,  and  knew 
that  too.  More  money  had  been  spent  on  their  behalf 
than  a  careful  landlord  would  have  considered  necessary 
in  these  latter  days.  In  the  matter  of  farm  and  cottage 
buildings  Kemsale  was  a  model  estate,  and  Herbert  Fuller 
knew  what  he  was  about  when  the  details  of  building  were 
in  question.  But  the  expenditure  on  this  head  had  not 
been  justified  by  the  rent-roll,  however  well  and  econom- 
ically the  work  had  been  done. 

How  could  Armitage  Brown  know  that?  Fuller  was 
startled  by  his  saying,  immediately  after  his  word  of  com- 
mendation: "  The  place  doesn't  seem  to  have  been  run  to 
pay.  I  suppose  you  had  your  instructions.  The  housing 
and  so  on  was  the  chief  thing." 

Fuller  hesitated  long  enough  to  cause  a  sharp  glance  to 
be  directed  towards  him.  "  The  old  Lord  Meadshire  liked 
everything  of  that  sort  to  be  done  as  well  as  possible," 
he  said.  "  This  one  has  left  it  pretty  well  to  me ;  but 
he  never  complained  of  anything  I  did  in  that  way." 

"  Oh,  well,  I'm  not  complaining  either.  If  that's  the 
tradition  I  shall  keep  it  up." 

There  followed  another  string  of  questions,  as  to  bricks 
and  mortar  this  time,  and  they  were  answered  with  the 
same  crisp  efficiency  as  before. 

Again  came  the  smile  and  the  word  of  praise.  "  One 
would  think  you  had  been  brought  up  to  the  building  trade, 
Captain  Fuller." 


90  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  I  served  in  the  Royal  Engineers,  and  after  that  I  had 
a  good  deal  to  do  with  planning  and  building.  It  always 
interested  me,  though  of  course  it  isn't  the  chief  thing  in 
a  land  agent's  job." 

He  felt  obliged  to  put  that  in.  A  man  like  this  mustn't 
be  deceived. 

"  Well,  I'm  inclined  to  think  it  may  interest  me  too. 
At  any  rate,  until  I  come  down  and  take  the  reins,  you'll 
understand  that  you  have  authority  to  do  what  you  think 
necessary  in  that  way.  Do  what  you've  done  before,  in 
fact.  That  point's  settled,  and  we  needn't  recur  to  it." 

Then  he  was  going  to  be  kept  on.  There  seemed  no 
doubt  about  it  now.  He  felt  himself  bathed  in  a  warm 
glow;  but  he  had  to  collect  himself  sharply  for  what 
was  coming  now. 

"  When  I  said  that  the  place  hadn't  been  run  to  pay  I 
didn't  mean  that  I  regarded  the  outgoings  that  we've  been 
talking  about  as  unreasonable.  As  far  as  that  goes  I 
certainly  shan't  be  behind  Lord  Meadshire  in  keeping  up 
the  property,  or  improving  it  where  improvement  is  wanted. 
It's  not  my  way.  But  I  shan't  be  content  with  three- 
quarters  of  one  per  cent,  on  the  capital  I've  put  into  it, 
either,  and  that's  about  what  it  seems  to  have  averaged 
lately,  leaving  out  of  account  the  letting  of  the  sporting 
rights.  By  the  by,  that  arrangement  comes  to  an  end 
this  year,  doesn't  it?  " 

"  At  the  end  of  the  season." 

"  And  that's  when?    I  don't  know  anything  about  sport." 

"  It  ends  on  the  first  of  February." 

"  It  ends  there  for  good,  then.     You  understand  that?  " 

Captain  Fuller  had  been  prepared  to  discuss  the  point 
at  leisure.  But  all  he  said  was,  "  Oh,  certainly." 

Armitage  Brown  looked  at  his  pages  of  large-scrawled 
notes  and  figures,  then  turned  sharply  to  Fuller. 


A   MOMENTOUS   INTERVIEW  91 

"  How  would  you  suggest  making  the  place  pay — say 
three  per  cent.  ?  " 

Poor  little  Herbert's  jaw  dropped.  The  weak  place  was 
exposed  now,  with  a  vengeance.  In  commerce,  Herbert 
Fuller  would  have  been  a  confidential  clerk  in  a  hundred 
thousand — accurate,  conscientious,  untiring,  trustworthy; 
but  he  would  never  have  made  a  penny  of  money  on  his 
own  initiative.  And  landowning  is  nothing  but  a  branch 
of  commerce,  if  it  is  to  be  judged  by  percentages  on  capi- 
tal. To  be  asked  coolly  what  he  would  suggest  to  multiply 
his  returns  by  four,  when  it  took  him  all  he  knew  to  main- 
tain them  at  their  present  level,  was  to  turn  him  from 
ready,  confident  speech  to  a  hesitating  confusion  that 
seemed  likely  to  destroy  all  the  good  he  had  so  far  done 
himself. 

But  Armitage  Brown  knew  his  man  now,  or  thought  he 
did.  He  laughed  shortly  at  his  face  of  dismay.  "  Well, 
I  don't  know  that  you  should  be  asked  to  pronounce  on 
what  isn't  your  business,"  he  said.  "  You've  carried  out 
a  system.  It  wasn't  for  you  to  alter  it."  He  referred  to 
his  notes  again.  "  You've  told  me  how  much  land  is  pasture, 
and  how  much  is — what  do  you  call  it? — arable.  Tell  me 
how  dairying  is  carried  on  on  the  property." 

Without  the  guidance  of  leading  questions,  the  informa- 
tion given  was  not  so  clear  or  exhaustive  as  it  had  been. 
There  was  one  large  holding  consisting  chiefly  of  grassland 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  property,  near  the  terminus  of 
Ganton,  where  dairying  was  carried  on  on  a  considerable 
scale.  Armitage  Brown  began  to  ask  him  questions  about 
that,  when  Fuller  had  floundered  through  his  account  of 
how  things  were  done  on  the  home  farm,  and  on  other 
farms  where  a  herd  of  cows  was  kept.  He  asked  about 
markets  and  freights  and  the  times  of  trains,  and  the 
proportion  of  labour  to  the  land,  and  of  the  herd  to  the 


92  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

acreage,  and  many  other  things  of  which  Fuller  knew  little 
or  nothing.  He  felt  miserable  again  now,  and  began  to 
experience  a  sense  of  unfairness,  and  to  consider  whether 
he  should  not  put  in  a  protest. 

But  Armitage  Brown  virtually  put  it  in  for  him,  and 
met  it.  "Well,  I  suppose  that  isn't  your  business,  either," 
he  said.  "  I'm  not  trying  to  puzzle  you,  Captain  Fuller. 
You  must  remember  that  I  know  almost  nothing  about  land 
and  how  it's  held.  I  don't  think  I  ever  realised,  what  I 
see  now,  that  the  tenant  does  pretty  well  what  he  likes 
on  his  farm,  and  the  agent's  business  isn't  exactly  to  over- 
look him — to  know  more  about  it  than  he  does  himself,  in 
fact.  Can  you  get  up  a  subject,  Captain  Fuller?  " 

The  questions  generally  came  sharply,  after  a  speech 
that  had  tended  to  relieve  previous  tension.  Poor  little 
Herbert  was  beginning  to  feel  the  strain.  Under  pretence 
of  blowing  his  nose,  he  passed  his  handkerchief  across 
his  brow.  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  said,  "  I'm  not  a  practical  farmer. 
I've  learnt  a  good  deal  about  it,  of  course,  and  I  know 
good  farming  from  bad,  and  a  man  who's  likely  to  do 
well  by  his  farm  from  a  man  who  isn't.  And  I've  always 
run  the  home  farm  myself,  with  a  bailiff,  on  satisfactory 
lines,  I  think.  But  if  you  were  to  put  me  down  in  a  large 
farm,  and  tell  me  to  make  a  handsome  profit  out  of  it,  I 
don't  believe  I  could  do  it.  I  haven't  been  trained  to  it. 
I  don't  want  to  sail  under  false  colours." 

He  felt  relieved  at  having  said  it.  He  would  have 
everything  open  and  above  board,  and  stand  up  to  the 
worst  if  the  worst  was  to  come. 

Armitage  Brown  looked  at  his  watch — an  action  that 
yras  not  reassuring.  But  he  spoke  at  once.  "  I  understand 
all  that,"  he  said,  "  but  it  isn't  exactly  what  I  asked.  Take 


A  MOMENTOUS   INTERVIEW  95 

this  subject  of  dairying  now.  I  read  a  pamphlet  the  other 
day  that  fell  into  my  hands  about  dairying  as  it  is  carried 
on  in  Australia,  on  a  very  large  scale.  It  interested  me. 
And  I  suppose  there's  information  to  be  got  about  how 
it's  done  in  Holland,  and  in  other  countries.  If  I  got 
together  for  you  whatever  has  been  written  on  the  subject, 
with  returns  and  reports  and  so  on,  could  you  master  them, 
so  that  whatever  questions  I  asked  you  you'd  be  able  to 
answer,  just  as  you  answered  the  first  lot  of  questions  I 
asked  you?" 

Fuller  plucked  up  courage.  "  Yes,  certainly  I  could  do 
that,"  he  said  boldly.  "  I  did  it  once  with  the  question 
of  fruit  for  the  old  Lord  Meadshire.  It's  exactly  what 
I'm  fit  for." 

"  I  think  it  is,  Captain  Fuller ;  I  think  it  is."  The  words 
brought  balm.  "  And  it  is  what  I  shall  want  from  you. 
I'll  tell  you  now  that  I  shan't  be  content  to  carry  on  the 
business  of  the  land  at  Kemsale  in  the  old-fashioned  way. 
I  shall  want  to  make  experiments,  and  see  if  more  can't 
be  done  with  it.  The  responsibility  for  them  will  be  mine, 
and  you  won't  have  to  worry  yourself  about  it.  If  I  fail, 
it  will  be  my  fault  and  not  yours.  All  you  will  have  to 
do  will  be  first  of  all  to  collect  information  for  me,  and 
then  see  that  what  I  decide  is  carried  out.  We'll  begin 
on  those  lines  with  this  dairying  question.  Get  together 
all  the  information  you  can — I'll  send  you  down  books  and 
papers — and  let  me  know  exactly  what  the  process  would 
be — alterations  necessary  and  so  on — to  try  it  on  a  large 
scale  at  Kemsale.  It  may  not  be  feasible;  that  I  shan't 
know  till  I'm  primed.  But  we'll  talk  it  all  over  when  I 
come  down  in  the  spring.  That's  settled  then.  Now 
you've  told  me  about  the  tenancies  on  which  the  farms 
are  held.  Take  a  note  of  these  instructions,  please.  Where 
they  are  yearly,  renew  them  till  next  autumn.  Where 


04  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

there's  a  year's  notice  required,  give  it,  as  from  this  autumn, 
if  that  can  be  done.  In  the  case  of  the  two  farms  that 
are  vacant,  take  them  over  yourself — but  I  suppose  you've 
done  that  already." 

"Some  of  the  farms  have  been  in  the  same  hands  for 
a  number  of  years,  Mr.  Brown." 

It  was  the  old  order  crying  out  to  the  new.  Armitage 
Brown's  face  hardened  slightly.  "  I  don't  propose  to  be 
hampered  by  those  considerations,"  he  said  stiffly.  "  At 
the  same  time  I'm  not  going  to  turn  off  anybody  that  I 
can  use.  You  can  let  it  be  known  that  the  notice  is  only 
intended  to  give  me  a  free  hand.  I'll  consider  each  case 
in  detail  when  I  come  down  next  year." 

There  was  no  time  except  for  lightning  decisions.  He 
had  already  opened  his  mouth  to  make  his  next  speech, 
when  Fuller  said:  "  I  should  like  to  use  my  discretion  in 
that  matter,  and  tell  certain  of  the  older  tenants  that  the 
notice  is  purely  formal." 

Armitage  Brown  frowned.  He  had  given  his  orders, 
and  was  not  accustomed  to  have  them  questioned.  Fuller 
saw  the  frown  and  it  stiffened  him.  He  was  ready  to 
obey  orders,  but  not  in  the  manner  of  a  servant.  His 
tone  was  as  decisive  as  the  millionaire's  as  he  said:  "  You 
told  me  just  now  that  you  knew  nothing  about  the  tenure 
of  land.  There's  no  time  to  explain  things.  I'm  ready 
to  do  what  you  want,  but  you'd  much  better  let  me  do 
it  in  my  own  way.  It  will  come  to  the  same  thing  in 
the  end." 

The  little  man  would  not  have  cared  for  the  moment 
if  he  had  lost  his  post  straight  away.  He  was  not  going 
round  to  tenants  who  had  held  their  farms  at  Kemsale 
for  generations  with  a  curt  notice  of  dismissal,  unless  he 
took  his  own  along  with  them.  There  was  loyalty  in 
these  matters. 


A  MOMENTOUS   INTERVIEW  95 

"  The  notice  isn't  purely  formal/'  said  Armitage  Brown. 
"  Whatever  I  decide  to  do  with  the  land,  I  don't  intend 
to  run  it  on  the  old  lines.  If  the  tenants  who  are  there 
already  choose  to  work  on  my  lines,  they'll  have  the  chance, 
those  of  them  that  I  think  suitable.  But  it's  just  the  old- 
established  ones  that  are  most  likely  to  make  difficulties." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  tell  them  that  you're  going  to 
make  these  experiments  with  the  land?  " 

"  Of  course  I  don't  want  that.  It's  understood  that 
anything  I've  said  to  you  is  confidential." 

"  Then  what's  the  good  of  upsetting  them  beforehand? 
Instead  of  coming  down  to  find  your  way  prepared  for 
you,  you'll  get  nothing  but  friction  that  could  just  as 
easily  be  avoided." 

"  Supposing  I  say  that  things  must  be  done  in  my  way 
when  I've  indicated  plainly  what  that  way  is  to  be,  Captain 
Fuller?" 

"  Then  I'll  ask  you  to  get  somebody  else  to  do  them, 
Mr.  Brown.  All  the  knowledge  I  have  is  at  your  service. 
If  you  can't  make  use  of  it,  you  can't  make  use  of  me." 

Armitage  Brown's  face  suddenly  lightened.  "  Well,  I'm 
not  such  a  fool  as  not  to  see  that,"  he  said  good-humouredly. 
"  I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  make  use  of  you  very  well,  Cap- 
tain Fuller.  Have  it  your  own  way,  then,  for  the  present." 

As  the  little  man  travelled  home  that  evening,  sitting  in 
a  corner  of  his  third-class  carriage,  and  fingering  his  mous- 
tache, he  was  full  of  happiness.  He  smiled  constantly  as 
he  went  over  the  points  of  the  interview.  At  one  time  the 
smile  left  his  face  and  was  succeeded  by  a  look  of  con- 
sternation. "  By  Jove !  "  he  said  to  himself.  "  He  didn't 
give  me  notice;  I  gave  it  to  him.  Thank  goodness  he 
didn't  accept  it."  Then  he  laughed. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
BARTON'S  FARM 

HERBERT  FULLER  reached  home  that  evening  in  time  for 
dinner.  His  wife  was  standing  at  the  door  as  his  cart 
drove  up.  "Well,  what's  the  news  ? "  she  called  out  in 
her  high-pitched  voice,  as  he  pulled  up  his  horse. 

He  did  not  answer  her  at  once,  anxious  as  he  was  to 
tell  her  that  the  news  was  good;  and  as  he  stepped  down 
from  his  seat,  she  said,  with  sharp  vexation,  "  Didn't  you 
hear  me  speak  ?  Why  can't  you  answer  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  tell  you  before  him,"  he  said,  indicating 
the  groom,  who  was  now  driving  round  to  the  yard.  "  The 
news  is  good,  my  dear.  I'll  tell  you  about  it  if  you  come 
up  while  I  change." 

"  WTell,  that's  something  to  be  thankful  for,"  she  said, 
"  if  it  really  is  good,  and  you're  not  only  kept  on  tempo- 
rarily. But  you  don't  want  to  dress  to-night,  and  it's  cold 
upstairs.  Come  in  here;  I  can  tell  them  not  to  lay  the 
table  for  ten  minutes." 

She  led  the  way  into  the  dining-room,  where  there  was 
a  bright  fire  burning.  It  was  the  only  comfortable  thing 
in  the  room,  except  a  shabby  easy-chair,  which  was  sup- 
posed to  be  Fuller's,  but  which  his  wife  more  frequently 
occupied.  Dressmaking  had  been  going  on,  and  every 
table  and  chair  was  littered,  not  only  with  the  materials 
and  implements  for  such  work,  but  with  accessories  to 
indoor  life,  and  outdoor  too,  that  it  was  too  much  trouble 
to  put  into  their  places.  It  was  a  large,  rather  low  room, 
with  a  great  oak  beam  running  across  it,  small-paned 

96 


BARTON'S  FARM  97, 

windows  on  two  of  the  walls,  and  a  cavernous  hospitable 
hearth.  It  would  have  made  a  delightfully  comfortable 
general  sitting-room  if  there  had  been  the  slightest  attempt 
at  keeping  it  in  order;  but  if  the  maids  tidied  up  in  the 
morning  their  work  was  always  undone  by  the  time  the 
evening  came  round.  The  drawing-room  was  the  room 
of  state,  not  used  except  for  visitors,  who  were  never 
allowed  to  enter  this  one.  So  it  didn't  matter  what  it 
looked  like. 

Herbert  Fuller  looked  round  it  with  distaste.  He  was 
cold  and  hungry ;  it  was  a  quarter  to  eight,  but  the  dining- 
table  was  cluttered  up  with  a  sewing  machine  and  a  dis- 
orderly pile  of  feminine  gear.  His  wife  was  in  her  day 
clothes — a  soiled  blouse  and  an  old  skirt — and  as  she  had 
appointed  to  herself  a  day  of  retirement,  she  had  not 
troubled  to  dress  her  hair  properly.  Only  he  would  see 
her,  and  he  didn't  matter. 

Perhaps  he  was  a  little  exalted  by  his  late  success.  He 
did  occasionally  assert  himself  against  the  tyranny  to  whicK 
he  was  subjected  in  his  home,  and  did  so  now.  "  Why  isn't 
dinner  ready  ?  "  he  snapped.  "  The  room  looks  like  a 
pig-sty.  And  if  you're  not  going  to  take  the  trouble  to 
make  yourself  look  decent  for  the  evening,  I  am." 

He  marched  out  of  the  room  and  up  to  his  dressing- 
room,  from  which  he  was  immediately  heard  to  shout  down- 
stairs for  hot  water.  There  were  no  bells  in  the  house,  and 
the  mistress  being  what  she  was,  the  servants  frequently 
neglected  their  most  ordinary  duties. 

Mrs.  Fuller  was  fully  capable  of  dealing  with  a  revolt 
of  this  sort.  The  easiest  way  would  have  been  to  follow 
her  husband  upstairs,  "  row  "  the  maid  who  had  neglected 
her  duty,  and  make  some  sort  of  excuse  for  the  state  of 
things  to  which  he  had  come  home.  Or  if  not  the  easiest 
way,  to  her,  it  would  have  calmed  him  down  instantly, 


98  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

and  he  would  have  told  her  all  she  wanted  to  know,  and 
he  wanted  to  tell  her. 

For  she  had,  in  fact,  gone  through  a  very  anxious  day. 
As  she  had  been  cutting  out  and  stitching  and  working 
her  machine,  she  had  been  visited  by  sundry  very  cold  fits 
when  she  thought  of  the  possibility  of  her  husband  losing 
his  position.  There  was  next  to  nothing  to  fall  back  upon. 
He  had  about  a  hundred  pounds  a  year  of  his  own,  and 
she  had  nothing.  And  he  was  getting  on.  She  knew  as 
well  as  he  did  that  if  he  lost  this  job  he  would  almost  cer- 
tainly not  get  another.  She  had  been  able  to  put  all  thought 
of  the  future  aside  as  long  as  they  were  where  they  were, 
and  muddle  away  what  was  quite  a  good  income  without 
allowing  him  to  put  by  a  penny  of  it.  But  if  the  income 
should  suddenly  cease!  There  was  no  getting  away  from 
the  thought  now. 

As  she  stitched  and  turned  the  handle  of  the  machine, 
and  snapped  at  her  daughter  when  she  made  some  remark 
that  disturbed  her  train  of  thought,  she  imagined  her 
husband  giving  in  meekly  to  the  man  who  had  his  fate, 
or  rather  her  fate,  in  his  hands,  showing  himself  weak 
where  he  ought  to  be  firm,  and  "  uppish  "  where  it  would 
be  better  to  give  in.  That  was  the  way  he  dealt  with 
her,  although  she  would  not  have  acknowledged  it;  and 
she  despised  him  for  it.  If  only  she  could  have  been  there 
to  stiffen  him!  She  quite  thought  that  she  could  get  her 
own  way  with  any  man,  as  she  got  it  with  him.  She 
thought  nothing  of  his  cheerful  conscientious  service,  nor 
hoped  that  his  new  employer  might  recognise  it,  nor  sent 
out  her  sympathy  to  him  in  his  anxiety  and  in  the  test 
that  he  was  undergoing.  She  only  thought  of  him  igno- 
miniously  failing  to  make  himself  out  something  that  he 
wasn't,  and  felt  anger  and  contempt  against  him  for  his 
deficiencies  in  an  art  that  to  her  was  second  nature.  If  he 


BARTON'S  FARM  99 

came  back  to  tell  her  that  his  place  had  been  assured  him, 
she  would  rejoice  for  her  own  sake,  but  would  not  allow 
him  to  take  any  credit  for  it.  She  actually  made  up  her 
phrases  beforehand.  "  Well,  I'm  glad  he  didn't  see  through 
you."  Or  if  he  showed  himself  particularly  pleased  with 
the  way  the  interview  had  gone,  "  Oh,  I  dare  say  you  flatter 
yourself  you  got  the  better  of  him.  We  shall  see  what 
happens  later  on."  If  the  news  were  to  be  that  he  was 
to  remain  on  for  a  time  on  trial,  she  would  gird  at  him 
and  ask  him  what  he  supposed  they  were  to  do  when  the 
time  came  to  an  end.  If  it  was  to  be  dismissal,  supersession, 
then  she  would  employ  all  her  bitterness  upon  the  poor 
little  honest  man,  who  had  only  erred  in  not  taking  a  firmer 
stand  against  her,  for  the  sake  of  their  joint  security  in 
the  future.  She  would  gain  some  immediate  relief  of  the 
black  terror  that  would  settle  upon  her,  by  seeing  him  hold 
his  head  in  his  hands  in  misery  under  the  lash  of  her 
tongue.  He  would  do  that ;  he  would  not  stand  up  to  her ; 
and  she  would  be  goaded  by  his  abject  submission  to  still 
further  flights  of  vituperation. 

Now  she  hesitated  for  a  moment  as  he  walked  out  of  the 
room.  She  did  want  to  hear  what  had  happened.  Should 
she  make  some  half-contemptuous  advance  that  would  draw 
it  out  of  him?  The  hesitation  was  only  momentary.  He 
had  said  that  the  news  was  good;  details  could  wait.  A 
look  of  spite  came  over  her  face. 

Her  daughter  came  into  the  room.  She  had  on  a  new 
evening  gown,  in  which  she  had  been  arraying  herself 
for  the  last  half-hour.  Herbert  Fuller  always  dressed  for 
dinner  by  choice,  the  habits  of  his  youth  and  his  orderly 
precise  ways  demanding  some  sort  of  recognition  of  the 
evening  meal  as  dividing  off  the  day.  His  wife  usually 
compromised  in  a  draggled  tea-gown,  which  she  threw  on 
over  other  clothes  in  a  few  minutes.  She  hated  the  trouble 


100  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

of  dressing,  unless  it  was  for  "  company,"  when  she  would 
spend  hours  over  it.  But  occasionally  she  would  take  it 
into  her  head  to  appear  in  full  costume  when  they  were 
alone,  especially  if  she  had  something  new  that  she  had 
not  had  an  opportunity  of  wearing  outside.  Her  daughter 
was  taking  after  her  in  all  these  whims  and  habits. 

"Why  didn't  you  clear  up  before  you  went  upstairs?" 
she  asked  angrily.  "  You  leave  it  all  for  me  to  do.  Any 
one  would  think  I  was  your  servant,  to  go  trapesing  about 
and  picking  up  all  your  mess.  Put  the  things  away  at 
once,  and  tell  them  to  keep  dinner  back  for  half  an  hour. 
I'm  going  up  to  dress." 

"  You're  surely  not  going  to  take  half  an  hour,  mother, 
are  you?"  asked  the  girl.  "It's  just  eight  o'clock,  and 
I'm  as  hungry  as  a  hunter." 

Among  the  good  points  that  had  not  yet  been  driven  out 
of  her,  this  girl  had  an  equable  spirit,  and  was  not  easily 
put  out  by  her  mother's  eccentricities  of  temper. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'm  going  to  dress,"  said  Mrs.  Fuller,  her 
annoyance  against  her  daughter  overcome  by  her  annoy- 
ance against  her  husband.  "  Your  father  has  come  home 
so  perked  up  by  his  visit  to  the  great  man  that  he  won't 
look  at  us  in  anything  but  our  best  clothes.  If  he  doesn't 
like  waiting  for  his  dinner  while  I  put  'em  on,  he  can  lump 
it.  Tell  them  to  serve  up  at  half-past  eight,  and  if  cook 
gives  notice,  tell  her  she  can  go.  I'm  sick  of  her  im- 
pudence." 

She  was  going  out  of  the  room  when  Irene  asked:  "  Is 
it  all  right  about  father's  job?" 

"  Oh,  you'd  better  ask  him,"  she  said  on  the  stairs, 
"  especially  jf  you  want  your  nose  bitten  off.  7  don't  know 
anything  about  it,  and  don't  care." 

Irene  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  began  to  clear  the 
table,  putting  the  things  down  on  the  chairs  or  anywhere 


BARTON'S  FARM  101 

where  there  was  room  for  them,  without  any  attempt  at 
reducing  the  room  to  order.  She  was  a  tall  well-made 
girl,  with  a  face  neither  plain  nor  pretty.  Her  new  frock 
was  over-smart,  and  looked  cheap  at  the  same  time.  Her 
mother  spent  too  much  money  on  her  own  clothes  and  too 
little  on  the  girl's;  but  the  neck  and  arms  so  liberally  dis- 
played were  firm  and  smooth,  and  she  moved  with  youthful 
litheness.  Perhaps  she  was  justified  in  feeling  that  her 
new  frock  was  a  sort  of  refuge  against  the  cantankerous- 
ness  that  was  apparently  going  to  be  the  note  of  the 
evening. 

She  went  out  and  gave  the  orders  that  she  had  been  bid- 
den to  give,  even  to  the  extent  of  telling  the  cook  that  she 
could  go  if  she  liked,  and  then  came  back  and  took  some 
almonds  and  raisins  off  a  dish  on  the  sideboard,  and  settled 
herself  in  the  big  easy-chair  to  nibble  at  them,  and  read  a 
novel  which  she  picked  up  from  the  floor,  where  she  had 
thrown  it  after  lunch. 

At  the  stroke  of  eight  her  father  came  briskly  into  the 
room.  His  spurt  of  irritation  had  died  down;  he  was 
looking  forward  to  his  dinner,  and  to  regaling  his 
wife  and  daughter  with  the  full  account  of  his  experi- 
ences. 

His  face  clouded  again  when  he  saw  the  table  still  unlaid. 
"Why  on  earth  isn't  dinner  ready?"  he  asked.  "It  has 
struck  eight  and  they  haven't  even  laid  the  table." 

"  Mother  put  dinner  back  to  half-past  eight,"  said  Irene. 
"  She  has  gone  up  to  dress." 

She  spoke  lazily,  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  and  looking 
up  at  him. 

He  was  too  loyal  to  say  anything  in  criticism  of  his 
wife  to  his  daughter,  but  stood  irresolutely  in  front  of  the 
fire,  his  face  troubled  and  vexed. 

"  Well,  I  shall  go  into  the  den  till  it's  ready,"  he  said. 


102  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  I  hope  it  won't  be  later  than  half-past  eight,  for  I'm 
confoundedly  hungry.  I  had  lunch  at  one,  and  no  tea." 

"I  expect  mother  will  be  some  time,"  said  the  girl. 
"  Why  don't  you  have  a  whisky  and  soda  and  a  biscuit?  " 

She  did  not  offer  to  get  them  for  him,  or  to  vacate  the 
chair  that  was  supposed  to  be  his.  "  I  think  I  will,"  he 
said,  and  went  to  the  sideboard,  where  there  was  a  spirit 
tantalus  and  a  siphon  of  soda  water. 

"  Is  it  all  right  about  the  job,  father?  "  Irene  asked,  as 
he  came  back  to  the  fire. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said  shortly.  Then  he  added:  "We've 
got  another  chance.  We  shall  have  to  begin  to  be  a  bit 
more  careful  now." 

This  did  not  interest  her,  and  she  returned  to  her  book. 
Presently,  after  he  had  looked  down  at  her,  he  said: 
"  Well,  I  shall  go  to  the  den  till  dinner  is  ready.  I  have 
some  papers  to  look  over." 

"  There  isn't  a  fire  there,"  she  said,  without  raising  her 
eyes  from  her  book. 

The  den  was  as  neat  and  tidy  as  the  dining-room  was 
the  reverse.  On  one  side  of  if  was  a  small  carpenter's 
bench  and. a  metal-turning  lathe,  with  tools  on  a  rack  above 
them,  all  in  their  places.  Writing-table,  book-shelves, 
nests  of  drawers,  everything  showed  the  occupation  of  a 
man  to  whom  orderliness  was  almost  a  passion.  There 
was  a  hearthrug,  but  no  carpet  on  the  floor.  An  old  wooden 
gate-backed  armchair,  with  no  cushions  in  it,  stood  by  the 
fireplace.  The  other  chairs  were  of  the  common  Windsor 
pattern.  There  was  no  attempt  at  comfort  in  the  room, 
but  its  neatness  made  it  look  actually  more  comfortable 
than  the  dining-room. 

Herbert  Fuller  drew  the  curtains,  lit  the  lamp,  and  after 
a  moment's  hesitation  put  a  match  to  the  fire.  He  depos- 
ited his  bag  of  papers  by  the  side  of  the  writing-table. 


BARTON'S  FARM  103 

and  then  sat  down  in  front  of  the  new  crackling  fire,  with 
his  glass  in  his  hand. 

He  was  not  greatly  disturbed  by  his  wife's  spiteful 
counter-attack.  His  mind  was  too  simple  and  direct  even 
to  recognise  its  pettiness.  She  would  keep  him  waiting 
half  an  hour,  or  perhaps  longer,  for  his  dinner.  His  an- 
noyance on  that  account  would  not  be  added  to  by  her 
sailing  into  the  room  in  elaborate  evening  costume,  and 
saying  that  she  hoped  she  was  smart  enough  now.  But 
her  attitude  stiffened  him  in  a  decision  he  had  come  to, 
and  that  he  had  hoped  to  be  able  to  carry  out  with  her 
co-operation.  If  she  was  not  in  a  mood  to  give  it,  then 
he  must  take  steps  to  enforce  his  will,  as  much  for  her 
sake  as  for  his  own. 

Money  had  flowed  through  her  fingers  like  water.  He 
was  eminently  capable  himself  of  using  an  income  to  the 
best  advantage,  and  again  and  again  he  had  made  estimates 
and  apportionments  which,  if  they  had  been  kept  to,  would 
have  enabled  them  to  live  comfortably  and  save  a  consid- 
erable sum  every  year.  But  the  years  had  slipped  by 
and  nothing  had  been  saved.  She  seemed  incapable  of 
husbanding  her  resources  in  any  way.  She  would  neglect 
her  household  accounts  for  weeks  together,  and  when  they 
came  to  be  added  up  and  found  greatly  to  exceed  the  sum 
that  had  been  laid  down  for  them,  all  her  excuse  would 
be  that  she  "  supposed  they  must  have  enough  to  eat." 
She  invariably  exceeded  her  dress  allowance,  but  "  never 
had  a  stitch  to  wear."  She  hated  the  discomforts  of  debt, 
and  took  great  credit  to  herself  for  this  feeling.  It  did 
not  prevent  her  from  running  up  bills,  but  it  brought  her 
to  him  with  them  when  they  were  large  and  pressing  enough 
to  disturb  her.  Then  the  money  that  he  had  scraped 
together  to  invest  would  be  paid  away,  and  she  would 
promise  to  be  more  careful,  but  accept  no  blame.  These 


104  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

were  the  only  occasions  upon  which  he  could  make  himself 
felt  at  all,  and  then  never  without  fierce  recriminations 
and  disclaimers  from  her.  The  only  saving  clause  in  the 
situation  was  that  Barton's  Farm,  which  was  the  name  of 
their  house,  was  not  large  enough  for  her  to  expand  their 
way  of  living  beyond  a  certain  point.  She  could  spend 
half  as  much  again  on  their  hugger-mugger  existence  as 
a  careful  housewife  would  have  needed  for  a  well-appointed 
house,  but  its  bounds  did  put  some  sort  of  limit  to  her 
expenditure  inside;  and  outside,  in  gardens  and  stable, 
his  own  careful  management  gave  them  what  was  necessary 
on  the  most  economical  terms. 

Barton's  Farm  was  not  the  official  agent's  house,  which 
was  considerably  larger.  They  had  occupied  it  as  a  make- 
shift when  they  had  first  come  to  Kemsale.  The  only 
appreciable  success  that  Herbert  Fuller  had  had  in  his 
incessant  struggle  against  over-expenditure  was  that  he 
had  never  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded,  or  bullied,  into 
moving  into  "  The  Limes."  Even  his  wife,  insanely  un- 
practical as  she  was,  and  contemptuous  of  his  expostula- 
tions, had  never  found  an  answer  to  his  argument:  "  If 
we  can  only  manage  just  to  keep  our  heads  above  water 
here,  what  chance  shall  we  have  in  a  house  like  that?" 
To  the  fortunate  accident  of  "  The  Limes  "  having  been 
tenanted  at  the  time  they  had  come  to  Kemsale,  they  owed 
it  that  they  had,  so  far,  kept  their  heads  above  water. 

But  now  the  time  had  imperatively  come  when  more 
than  that  was  wanted,  and  it  was  on  the  means  of  bringing 
it  about  that  this  active,  honest  little  man,  who  felt  younger 
than  his  years,  but  was  beginning  to  see  them  drawing  to 
a  close,  cogitated,  as  he  sat  hungry  and  still  rather  cold 
before  his  smoky  fire. 

It  was  twenty  minutes  to  nine  when  the  dinner  bell  at 
last  rang.  The  extra  delay  had  irritated  him  to  the  point 


BARTON'S  FARM  105 

of  making  him  feel  himself  a  martinet,  and  when  he  went 
into  the  dining-room  he  was  determined  to  carry  out  the 
decisions  he  had  made,  with  no  nonsense  allowed.  His 
wife  was  already  seated  at  the  table  in  what  looked  to 
him  like  a  ball-dress,  and  a  very  expensive  one.  She  wore 
all  her  jewels,  and  had  dressed  her  brass-tinted  hair  elab- 
orately. The  process  had,  curiously  enough,  driven  away 
the  effervescence  of  her  ill-humour.  She  had  kept  him 
waiting  for  his  dinner  for  nearly  an  hour,  which  would 
"  teach  him  " ;  and  now,  if  he  chose  to  behave  himself, 
he  might  deliver  his  budget  of  news  without  being  more 
snapped  at  than  in  normal  conversation. 

"  Well,  I  hope  this  is  grand  enough  for  you,"  she  said 
as  he  came  in. 

"  It's  a  bit  too  grand  for  my  taste,"  he  said,  as  he  sat 
down.  "  But  at  any  rate  it  looks  clean." 

It  must  be  admitted  that  this  was  rude;  and  the  maid 
was  standing  at  his  elbow,  and  would  certainly  report  the 
speech  to  the  enraged  cook. 

No  more  was  said  until  she  had  left  the  room,  when  there 
was  an  explosion. 

"  I  meant  what  I  said,"  he  snapped  in  answer  to  it — he 
could  snap,  too,  at  times.  "  And  as  for  saying  such  a 
thing  before  the  servants,  it's  nothing  to  what  you  allow 
yourself  to  say  before  them  if  you're  annoyed." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  quarrel,  children,"  said  Irene  lazily. 
"  I  want  to  hear  about  the  great  Armitage  Brown." 

Her  father  was  already  a  little  ashamed  of  his  speech, 
and  of  pursuing  a  quarrel  before  her;  and  his  spurts  of 
temper  died  down  quickly  and  left  no  sulkiness  behind 
them.  Mrs.  Fuller  was  still  furious  with  him,  but  her 
gown  seemed  to  demand  behaviour  more  "  lady-like  "  than 
she  was  accustomed  to  adopt  in  the  home  circle.  She  sat 
stiff  and  offended  while  he  told  of  the  cross-examinations 


106  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

to  which  he  had  been  subjected,  and  the  success  with  which 
he  had  met  them.  "  That  taste  of  mine  for  statistics  has 
turned  up  trumps,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  in  a  business  like 
his  they  have  to  use  them  a  lot  more  than  it's  necessary  for 
us  to  do.  Anyhow,  it  seemed  to  be  exactly  what  he  wanted." 

It  seemed  to  her  as  she  listened  to  his  account  of  the 
earlier  stages  of  his  interview,  which  was  broken  off  while 
he  was  carving  and  the  maid  was  in  the  room,  that  he 
really  had  succeeded  in  bluffing  the  great  man  into  thinking 
him  of  more  value  than  he  was ;  and  it  suited  her  better 
to  believe  in  that  sort  of  success  than  in  the  possibility  of 
his  having  shown  qualities  to  earn  it.  She  grew  interested 
in  his  account  of  the  interview,  seeing  in  it  a  contest  in 
which  he  might  easily  have  broken  down,  but  apparently 
hadn't,  as  in  the  end  he  had  kept  his  post.  When  he  sud- 
denly halted,  she  allowed  herself  to  unbend  so  far  as  to 
ask  a  question.  He  had  begun  to  tell  them,  with  a  laugh, 
and  a  "By  Jove!  though,"  that  at  one  period  of  his  inter- 
view he  had  actually  said  that  if  he  couldn't  have  his  own 
way  in  a  certain  matter  he  should  ask  Mr.  Armitage  Brown 
to  find  another  agent,  when  he  bethought  himself  that  he 
must  not  say  too  much  about  changes  that  might  be  coming. 

"  What  did  he  want  you  to  do  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,  don't  say  anything  about  it  outside,  but  notice 
has  got  to  be  given  all  round.  It's  often  done  when  a 
new  landlord  takes  a  property  over — just  a  matter  of  form, 
till  things  are  settled  all  round.  What  I  told  him  was  that 
some  of  them  might  not  understand  that,  and  it  would 
make  trouble  unless  I  had  authority  to  say  that  it  wasn't 
intended  to  turn  out  old  tenants,  like  the  Davises  and  the 
Pettifers,  for  instance.  He's  a  man  who's  accustomed  to 
do  things  in  a  pretty  high-handed  way,  and  he  Didn't  like 
it  when  I  interrupted  him  to  say  what  I  thought  about  it. 
He  said — oh,  you  should  have  seen  his  jaw  set  as  he  looked 


BARTON'S  FARM  107 

at  me — he  said,  '  And  suppose  I  say  that  when  I  say  a 
thing  is  to  be  done  in  a  certain  way,  it's  got  to  be  done 
in  that  way,  Captain  Fuller?'  'Well,  then,  I'll  ask  you 
to  get  somebody  else  to  do  it,  Air.  Brown,'  I  said." 

He  took  a  sip  of  wine,  enjoying  the  memory  of  his 
triumph.  He  was  warmed  and  fed  now,  and  had  talked 
bimself  into  equanimity. 

"  You  really  said  that  to  him ! "  exclaimed  his  wife. 
She  had  had  no  idea  that  he  had  it  in  him  to  bluff  to 
that  extent,  and  had  no  idea  now  that  he  had  not  been 
bluffing.  The  revelation  removed  from  her  mind  questions 
she  had  intended  to  ask  about  the  notice  to  the  tenants. 
If  her  husband  could  get  the  better  of  the  millionaire  in 
that  way,  what  might  not  she  herself  be  able  to  effect  with 
her  far  greater  powers  ? 

"  Yes,  that's  what  I  said.  I  think  he  had  only  meant 
to  see  what  sort  of  answer  I  should  give  him,  for  he  took 
it  with  a  laugh,  and  told  me  to  do  things  in  my  own  way. 
I  should  say  he  was  a  straight  fellow;  hard,  perhaps,  and 
likes  to  have  his  own  way,  but " 

"  But  you  can  get  round  him.  Well,  that's  good  hearing, 
I'm  sure.  And  you  seem  to  have  hit  upon  the  way  to  do 
it,  luckily  for  us.  But  I  shouldn't  give  him  notice  every 
time  you  want  your  own  way,  if  I  were  you.  You  might 
give  it  once  too  often.  Besides,  I  don't  suppose  your  way 
would  be  any  better  than  his,  or  so  good.  It's  your  business 
to  keep  in  with  him.  What  about  her?  Did  he  say  any- 
thing about  what's  going  to  happen  up  at  the  house?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  coming  to  that.  It's  one  of  the  best  things 
I've  got  to  tell  you.  Mrs.  Armitage  Brown  is  coming  down 
next  week  to  begin  to  get  the  house  in  order.  He's  been 
suddenly  called  to  America,  and  when  he  comes  back  they're 
going  to  the  Riviera  till  April.  He's  got  a  villa  there.  He 
likes  to  go  off  in  January,  and " 


108  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  Oh,  you've  talked  enough  about  him.  What  about 
her?" 

"  I  was  just  going  to  tell  you.  There'll  be  a  lot  to 
arrange,  getting  the  house  into  order  again.  I  fancy  he 
thinks  it  will  be  a  bigger  job  than  she  does;  and  running 
it  afterwards,  too.  He  asked  me  questions  about  that,  and 
I  told  him  that  the  old  lord  had  had  a  secretary  who  was 
kept  pretty  busy  with  accounts  and  overlooking  things  gen- 
erally, and  that  I  thought  it  hadn't  paid  not  to  have  one 
lately.  I  said  I'd  do  what  I  could  in  the  Estate  Office, 
but " 

"  Surely  you  didn't  offer  to  take  on  all  that  extra  work 
for  nothing!  Why,  Mortimer  had  three  hundred  a  year, 
and  his  rooms  and  keep  in  the  house.  Well,  you  are  a 
fool !  " 

He  looked  annoyed  for  a  moment.  "  I  wish  you'd  let 
me  finish,"  he  said.  "  I  was  going  to  say  that  in  the  end 
he  offered  me  another  hundred  pounds  a  year,  and  an  extra 
clerk  in  the  office,  to  take  over  the  house  accounts." 

He  had  meant  to  lead  up  to  it  by  repeating  the  conver- 
sation that  had  passed.  He  had  felt  the  offer  to  be  a 
generous  one  under  the  circumstances  in  which  it  had 
been  made,  and  its  effect  would  be  that  at  last  he  would 
be  in  a  position  to  save.  But  as  it  had  been  forced  out  of 
him,  it  fell  flat. 

"Well,  upon  my  word !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  A  hundred 
a  year  for  doing  the  work  that  old  Mortimer  got  what  was 
equal  to  five  or  six  for!  And  you  let  him  get  the  better 
of  you  as  much  as  that!  I  thought  we  should  have  a 
different  story  before  long." 

He  looked  downcast,  but  defended  himself  with  some 
irritation.  "  Mortimer  was  a  relation ;  it  was  quite  dif- 
ferent," he  said.  "  And  a  great  deal  went  on  in  the  old 
lord's  time  that  people  not  in  his  position  won't  want. 


BARTON'S  FARM  109 

Mr.  Brown  asked  me  about  Mortimer's  duties  as  secretary, 
and  when  I  told  him  some  of  them  he  laughed,  and  said 
he  shouldn't  mind  spending  money  on  living  comfortably 
at  Kemsale,  but  he  didn't  see  himself  spending  it  in  that 
way;  and  of  course  there's  no  denying  that,  rich  as  he  is, 
he  won't  fill  anything  like  the  position  that  old  Lord 
Meadshire  did.  Besides,  he's  got  his  own  secretaries,  and 
you  may  say  that  half  Mortimer's  job  will  be  done  by 
one  of  them.  No;  I  should  have  been  quite  ready  to  take 
the  household  accounts  into  the  office,  if  he'd  given  me 
another  clerk.  It  was  his  own  suggestion  that  he  should 
give  me  the  extra  hundred,  and  a  clerk  as  well.  It  will 
pay  me  handsomely  for  the  extra  work  I  shall  have,  and 
he  offered  it  in  a  nice  sort  of  way.  '  Well,  I  can't  expect 
you  to  save  me  money  and  get  nothing  out  of  it  yourself,' 
he  said.  '  How  would  it  be  if  I  increased  your  salary  by 
a  hundred  a  year?  Would  that  suit  you?  '  I  said  I  hadn't 
expected  anything  of  the  sort  and  thanked  him,  but  he 
said  I'd  nothing  to  thank  him  for;  he  should  save  much 
more  than  that  by  having  things  looked  after  by  a  careful 
man.  I  thought  that  was  generous.  I  believe  it's  true, 
of  course;  but  it  isn't  everybody  who'd  have  said  it,  and 
it  showed  that  he'd  taken  my  measure." 

"  Yes,  he  seems  to  have  done  that  all  right,"  she  sneered, 
"  getting  two  people's  work  out  of  you  for  a  little  more 
than  the  price  of  one.  Still,  it  will  just  make  the  differ- 
ence. There'll  be  no  excuse  for  not  getting  into  a  decent 
house  now.  You  say  you've  got  to  give  everybody  notice. 
That'll  make  it  easy  to  shift  that  old  cat  out  of  '  The 
Limes.'  " 


CHAPTER  IX 
GARDEN  NOTES 

SOMEWHERE  about  the  middle  of  November,  when  work 
at  Kemsale  was  in  full  swing,  Alfred  Brown  came  down 
for  a  few  days'  visit,  and  was  so  pleased  with  his  surround- 
ings that  he  stayed  for  a  month,  in  spite  of  the  carpenters 
and  painters  and  plumbers  that  were  all  about  him,  and 
the  absence  of  the  sun,  which  he  loved. 

The  sun  was  not  completely  absent,  even  during  those 
weeks  of  November  and  December.  On  his  first  arrival 
it  shone  mildly  for  three  days  together,  in  a  sweet  belated 
Indian  summer,  and  he  told  himself  that  he  had  never 
before  realised  how  lovely  the  English  country  was.  He 
was  one  of  the  many  thousands  of  Englishmen  who  are 
entirely  ignorant  of  what  rural  England  is  like  except  In 
the  summer;  but  before  he  went  back  to  London  he  had 
grown  to  love  even  the  cold  wet  days,  and  to  congratulate 
himself  upon  having  acquired  a  new  and  valuable  artistic 
impression. 

Part  of  the  charm  of  country  life  in  the  winter  depends 
upon  the  kind  of  shelter  to  which  one  returns  as  dusk  falls. 
Alfred  considered  himself  fortunate  in  this  respect.  His 
sitting-room  was  the  old  steward's  room  of  Meadshire  days, 
which  with  most  of  the  offices  of  the  house  had  been  bought 
in  with  all  their  effects  standing.  It  was  on  the  basement 
floor,  and  partly  below  the  level  of  the  ground  outside. 
But  it  had  two  large  windows,  one  facing  south  and  the 
other  east,  and  whenever  there  was  any  sun  shining  he 

110 


GARDEN  NOTES  111 

used  to  come  down  in  the  morning  to  find  the  room  flooded 
with  it. 

But  he  liked  still  better  to  come  back  to  it  in  the  even- 
ing, when  the  faded  red  curtains  were  drawn,  and  a  piled-up 
fire  was  blazing  on  the  old-fashioned  hearth.  He  would 
change  his  wet  boots  for  slippers,  and  ensconce  himself  in 
a  deep  chair  with  a  book  and  a  pipe,  and  taste  to  the  full 
the  delights  of  undisturbed  peace  and  bodily  comfort. 

He  would  chat  to  the  elderly  lady  who  came  in  to  lay 
the  table  for  his  dinner.  She  and  her  husband  were  care- 
takers, old  Meadshire  servants,  who  knew  well  enough 
how  a  gentleman  ought  to  be  looked  after;  and  he  thought 
he  had  never  been  so  well  served  in  his  life.  She  had 
taken  a  fancy  to  him,  and  he  to  her.  She  told  him  many 
tales  about  "  the  family,"  and  he  liked  to  hear  them,  but 
would  sometimes  confuse  her  by  asking  whether  she  didn't 
really  think  it  rather  funny  that  a  person  like  himself 
should  be  in  their  place.  "  Now  if  you  want  to  tease  me, 
sir,"  she  would  say,  "  I  shall  send  Lizzie  or  my  husband 
in  to  wait  on  you  " ;  or  "  It's  because  I  think  you'll  do 
very  well  that  I  like  to  have  speech  of  you";  or  "When 
we're  all  in  order  you  won't  be  seeing  much  of  me;  you 
must  talk  sensible."  But  she  would  never  admit  that  she 
accepted  the  new  order  as  a  satisfactory  substitute  for  the 
old ;  nor  could  she  hide  what  she  felt  about  the  downfall 
of  all  that  she  had  been  brought  up  to.  "  Ah,  it's  a  sad 
thing  to  think  of  his  lordship  and  her  ladyship  coming 
down  to  live  in  that  little  Herons'  Nest,"  she  would  say, 
"  and  her  so  much  looked  up  to  and  so  suitable  for  living 
in  a  great  house  like  this,  if  I  express  myself  right." 

He  began  to  be  interested  in  her  ladyship,  in  a  way  that 
may  be  said  to  have  been  sentimental,  although  not  in 
any  degree  lover-like,  because  he  had  learnt  that  she  had 
reached  what  to  a  very  young  man  is  middle-age  in  the 


112  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

other  sex.  She  represented  a  romantic  state  which  had 
now  suffered  eclipse.  He  saw  quite  clearly,  under  the 
influence  of  old  Mrs.  Parmiter's  backward-looking  talk, 
that  however  much  money  might  be  lavished  on  Kemsale 
in  the  future,  it  would  never  again  be  what  it  had  been  in 
the  past.  Lady  Grace  had  taken  something  away  with  her 
that  could  not  have  been  bought,  if  she  had  been  willing 
to  sell  it.  Her  influence  was  still  over  the  wrecked  house, 
especially  in  those  two  quiet  upstairs  rooms  which  had 
been  hers.  Comparing  what  was  being  made  of  the  rest 
of  the  house  with  those  two  rooms,  or  even  with  the  solid 
unpretentious  comfort  of  this  one  that  he  was  using,  he 
could  only  see  in  it  irreparable  loss,  and  came  by  degrees 
to  value  more  highly  still  the  virtues  that  had  gone  out 
of  it.  And  even  if  the  house  could  have  been  kept  intact, 
heavy  gain  as  that  would  have  been,  its  spirit  would  still 
have  departed;  it  could  not  have  been  supplied  by  those 
who  were  going  to  live  in  it. 

He  asked  about  the  Herons'  Nest,  and  received  an 
impression  that  made  him  hope  some  day  to  know  it  inti- 
mately. It  was  about  a  mile  away.  Its  situation,  as 
described  by  Mrs.  Parmiter,  hardly  fitted  in  with  the  ob- 
servations he  had  made  of  the  country  around.  It  stood 
amongst  pines  on  the  edge  of  a  rocky  gorge;  he  imagined 
a  scene  such  as  may  be  seen  in  Swiss  mountains.  There 
had  always  been  some  sort  of  rustic  cottage  there,  used 
for  picnics  and  such  retirements;  for  it  might  actually 
have  been  said  to  be  in  the  grounds  of  Kemsale,  approached 
as  it  was  by  long  shrubbery  walks,  and  only  recently  fenced 
off.  Some  years  before,  the  cottage  had  been  rebuilt, 
greatly  enlarged,  and  furnished  for  residence,  though  it 
had  never  been  continuously  occupied.  It  had  been  left 
to  Grace  for  life  by  her  grandfather,  with  some  acres  of 
ground,  which  included  the  whole  picturesque  gorge,  the 


GARDEN  NOTES  113 

waterfall,  and  the  heronry  above  it.  Upon  her  death  it 
would  revert  to  the  estate,  and  Meadshire  had  refused  to 
sell  its  reversion.  So  there,  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
eighteen  or  nineteen  thousand  acres,  were  about  thirty  that 
were  alienated.  The  price  for  the  whole  had  been  reduced 
on  that  account,  but  Meadshire  had  been  obstinate  about  it. 

When  it  had  been  decided  to  sell  Kemsale,  the  Herons' 
Nest  had  been  still  further  enlarged,  to  make  Grace's  home 
of  it.  And  Meadshire  had  decided  that  he  would  make  it 
his  home  with  her.  "I'm  not  denying  it's  a  very  pretty 
place,"  said  Mrs.  Parmiter,  "  and  her  ladyship  is  making 
it  prettier  still,  with  gardens  and  all.  If  all  was  as  it 
should  be  here,  with  his  lordship  married  and  living  in  the 
great  house,  as  his  forbears  have  done  before  him,  then  it 
would  be  a  very  suitable  place  for  her  ladyship,  as  long  as 
she  didn't  marry  herself,  dear  heart!  But  as  it  is !  " 

Alfred  took  an  early  opportunity  of  surveying  this 
Naboth's  vineyard,  as  it  was  likely  to  become  to  his  father. 
From  the  road  all  that  could  be  seen  was  a  stream  that  had 
already  lost  some  of  its  impetuosity,  passing  under  an  old 
stone  bridge,  and  a  little  way  from  the  bridge  a  gate,  flanked 
by  a  rustic  lodge,  and  a  road  leading  through  trees  to 
much  higher  ground.  A  little  farther  along,  after  a  corner 
had  been  turned,  a  bold  scarp  of  rock  could  be  seen,  which 
soon  softened  into  the  thickly  wooded  slopes  that  were  the 
usual  feature  of  this  long  range  of  hills.  All  the  rest 
was  hidden  from  sight,  and  approached  from  other  quarters 
the  place  was  still  hidden  by  its  banked  masses  of  trees. 
Only  towards  the  summit  of  the  hill,  where  the  heronry 
was,  the  ground  was  a  little  more  open;  and  the  way  in 
which  the  little  river  had  cut  its  way  through  the  rock 
could  be  seen  at  another  point  outside  the  new  high  fence. 
The  occupants  of  the  Herons'  Nest  were  at  least  assured  of 
complete  privacy  within  the  limits  of  that  fence. 


114  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

Alfred  heard  about  Lady  Grace  and  the  Herons'  Xest 
from  Mrs.  Parraiter  on  the  evening  of  his  arrival.  He 
heard  more  about  them  the  next  morning,  when  he 
went  out  in  the  soft  November  sunshine  to  explore  the 
gardens. 

He  would  much  have  preferred  to  go  about  unnoticed. 
He  was  as  far  as  possible  from  wishing  to  take  up  the 
position  of  heir  apparent  to  all  the  new  splendour  that  was 
being  created  about  him.  He  was  so  constituted  that  it  is 
probable  he  had  never  yet  thought  of  himself  as  some  day 
succeeding  to  it  all;  otherwise  he  would  certainly  have 
made  some  effort  to  reflect  his  own  taste  in  the  reconstitu- 
tion  of  the  house,  for  he  could  hardly  have  imagined  himself 
living  in  the  sort  of  place  it  was  going  to  be,  as  its  master. 
In  the  mood  of  his  youth  it  would  be  irksome  to  him  to 
be  tied  to  any  house,  least  of  all  to  the  gorgeous  palace 
that  his  parents  were  creating  for  themselves.  He  had 
not  even  reached  the  point  at  which  he  wanted  any  sort 
of  resting-place  of  his  own.  All  he  wanted  was  his  free- 
dom; and  a  couple  of  rooms  that  he  could  make  himself 
at  home  in,  when  he  wanted  to  be  with  his  family,  were 
all  the  anchorage  that  he  needed. 

But  he  was  not  able  to  dispense  with  attention.  He 
had  not  seen  much  of  the  garden  before  he  was  joined  by 
the  head  gardener,  who  offered  to  show  him  round. 

"  I  don't  want  showing  round,"  he  said ;  "  thank  you 
very  much.  I  want  to  wander  at  my  own  sweet  will.  I 
say,  this  looks  pretty  beastly." 

He  was  standing  on  the  steps  that  led  down  to  the 
carpet  garden,  now  bare  of  all  its  plants  for  the  winter, 
and  showing  only  its  intricate  design  of  squared  box 
edging,  raked  soil,  and  rolled  gravel. 

The  gardener's  face  darkened.  He  was  a  Scotsman, 
with  a  temper  that  h«  did  not  control  when  dealing  with 


GARDEN  NOTES  115 

his  subordinates,  although  he  did  his  best  in  that  respect, 
otherwise,  where  he  judged  it  politic  to  do  so. 

"  The  plants  have  all  been  taken  in  for  the  winter," 
he  said.  "  It  looks  quite  different  when  it  is  bedded  out." 

"  Yes,  I've  seen  it  bedded  out,  and  I  didn't  think  it 
looked  much  better  than  it  does  now.  I  hate  bedding  out, 
especially  on  this  scale." 

"  Well,  it's  a  matter  of  opeenion,"  said  Mackenzie  dog- 
matically. "  The  carpet  garden  at  Kemsale  has  always  been 
considered  a  feature,  and  I  may  say  that  for  the  twelve 
years  I've  had  to  do  with  it  it  has  lost  none  of  its 
reputation." 

He  spoke  rather  disagreeably.  He  was  "  trying  it  on." 
He  was  of  the  class  of  old-fashioned  gardeners  extraor- 
dinarily capable  within  their  limits,  who  take  in  no  new 
ideas,  and  fight  against  all  interference  from  their  em- 
ployers. At  their  most  tyrannous,  they  regard  the  gardens 
which  they  are  employed  to  overlook  as  their  own,  and 
expect  those  who  own  them  to  be  content  with  their  use 
as  pleasure  grounds.  They  are  getting  rarer  with  the 
growth  of  the  taste  for  amateur  gardening,  but  Mackenzie 
was  an  advanced  specimen,  and  was  prepared  to  go  to  all 
lengths  to  dominate  the  people  who  were  now  to  pay  him 
his  wages.  To  all  lengths  short  of  losing  his  place,  that  is ; 
for  he  was  enough  aware  of  the  changes  in  gardening  taste 
to  be  doubtful  of  getting  another  that  would  suit  him.  He 
had  formed  his  opinion  that  the  people  he  should  now 
have  to  deal  with  would  be  just  of  the  sort  to  be  kept 
in  their  place,  and  he  had  also  determined  the  lines  on 
which  it  should  be  done.  He  had  better  begin  at  once 
with  this  very  young-looking  son,  who  did  not  look  in  the 
least  formidable. 

"  I   hear  Lady  Grace  Ettien  is  making  a  very  original 
garden  at  her  new  house,"  said  Alfred.     It  had  occurred 


116  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

to  him  that  it  was  odd  that  she,  who  had  presumably  had 
the  direction  of  what  had  been  done  in  the  gardens  of 
Kemsale  of  late  years,  should  have  tolerated  this  expensive 
piece  of  ugliness,  which  offended  his  artistic  eye,  although 
he  knew  nothing  of  practical  gardening.  That  was  why 
he  brought  her  name  'in. 

He  had  aroused  a  hornets'  nest.  Grace  had  been  the 
stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  Mackenzie's  complete  autoc- 
racy. He  had  had  to  give  in  to  her,  and  had  done  so 
without  showing  how  much  he  resented  her  interference, 
so  that  she  had  only  laughed  at  his  cantankerousness,  and 
taken  his  opposition  to  each  and  all  of  her  plans  as  natural 
in  an  old  servant.  He  had  succeeded  in  confining  her 
activities  to  the  lower  part  of  the  garden,  and  her  own 
unwillingness  to  spend  money  on  it  had  confined  them  still 
further.  But  a  greater  cause  of  offence  against  her  still 
was  that  she  had  not  asked  him  to  go  with  her  to  the 
Herons'  Nest,  but  had  taken  his  second  in  command,  with 
.two  of  the  under  gardeners.  He  would  not  have  gone  if 
she  had  asked  him,  and  in  this  he  was  almost  alone  of  the 
army  of  indoor  and  outdoor  servants  at  Kemsale.  He 
felt  that  his  secret  disloyalty  had  been  found  out  when 
she  left  him  where  he  was  without  a  word,  and  the  offence 
rankled  deeply. 

"  You  may  call  it  gardening  if  you  like,"  he  said  con- 
temptuously. "  Her  ladyship's  at  liberty  to  play  about  as 
she  pleases.  She  never  knew  what  gardening  was,  and 
never  will." 

"  Didn't  she  like  this  sort  of  thing? "  asked  Alfred 
quickly,  indicating  the  .  bare  beds  near  which  they  were 
still  standing. 

"No;    she " 

"  Well,  I  don't  either.  Now,  I'm  going  to  explore. 
Good-bye,  for  the  present." 


GARDEN  NOTES  117 

An  hour  later  Alfred  stood  on  the  steps  overlooking 
the  two  acres  of  carpet  garden  again.  In  the  interval 
he  had  acquired  the  glimmerings  of  a  delightful  new 
occupation. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  could  do  it,"  he  said,  reflectively  scratch- 
ing his  chin.  "  I  think  it  would  amuse  me  to  try." 

The  next  morning  he  wrote  up  to  his  father's  London 
office,  asking  that  a  cablegram  might  be  sent  to  him: 
"  May  I  make  some  alterations  in  garden,  and  dismiss 
head  gardener  if  necessary?  Reply  direct  Kemsale. 
ALFRED." 

The  answer  came  the  next  day.  It  consisted  of  the 
single  word  "  Yes."  Armitage  Brown  liked  to  save  money 
on  cablegrams. 

Alfred  had  already  sent  to  London  for  books  on  garden 
design  and  found  others  in  the  library  that  helped  him. 
He  spent  his  evenings  making  elaborate  plans  for  trans- 
forming the  flat  oblong  on  which  the  carpet  garden  was 
laid  out  into  a  formal  garden  of  the  most  approved  style. 
There  were  to  be  arcades  and  alleys  of  yew,  fountains 
and  tanks,  if  water  could  be  provided,  knots  and  parterres, 
treillages  and  statuary — every  feature,  in  fact,  that  would 
have  been  found  in  every  mediaeval  garden,  and  a  good 
many  besides.  He  was  unhampered  by  any  knowledge  of 
the  habits  of  flowers,  or  of  the  time  it  would  take  for  his 
plans  to  mature;  but  he  enjoyed  himself  exceedingly  and 
finally  produced  a  plan  that  did  great  credit  to  his  artistic 
taste,  and  not  a  little  to  his  capacity  for  assimilating  knowl- 
edge that  could  be  acquired  from  books. 

On  the  second  evening  of  his  studies — he  had  as  yet 
only  made  tentative  sketches  of  the  plan  that  was  forming 
itself  in  his  mind — Mrs.  Parmiter  informed  him  that  Mr. 
Mackenzie  wanted  to  see  him. 

"  Ask  him  in,"  said  Alfred. 


118  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

Mackenzie  was  in  a  temper,  which  he  made  no  serious 
effort  to  disguise,  except  by  keeping  his  voice  to  a  com- 
paratively respectful  key. 

"  I've  come  to  ask,  sir/'  he  said,  "  if  you'll  be  good 
enough  to  give  me  orders  if  you  require  anything  from 
the  houses." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Alfred  genially,  "  unless  I  take  it 
into  my  head  to  pick  something  for  myself.  I  picked  a 
bunch  of  grapes  this  afternoon.  Is  that  what  you're 
referring  to?  " 

"  You'll  excuse  me,  sir,  but  as  long  as  I'm  head  gardener 
here,  things  can't  be  done  in  that  way.  My  orders  are 
to  send  up  so  much  vegetables  and  flowers  and  fruit  to 
Berkeley  Square,  and  the  grapes  you  picked  were  intended 
to  be  sent  off  to-morrow.  If " 

"  Oh,  I'm  sorry  for  that,"  said  Alfred.  "  But  there 
seemed  to  be  several  hundred  bunches  of  grapes  ready 
to  be  picked  in  the  different  houses.  It's  unfortunate 
that  I  should  have  hit  upon  the  very  one.  How  do  you 
know  them  apart?" 

"  I've  got  my  work  to  do,"  said  Mackenzie  in  a  tone 
slightly  higher  than  he  had  used  before,  "  and  I'm  quite 
ready  to  do  it,  as  I  understand  quite  well  how,  having 
lived  in  the  highest  families  all  my  life.  If  I'm  interfered 
with,  I  can't  expect  to  give  satisfaction.  I  had  my  instruc- 
tions from  her  lad}rship — I  should  say  from  Mrs.  Brown 
— and  I've  got  to  carry  those  instructions  out." 

It  may  have  been  Alfred's  imagination  that  he  had 
made  his  mistake  purposely,  and  corrected  it  on  a  note 
of  contempt.  At  any  rate  it  aroused  his  anger;  but  he 
did  not  show  it. 

"  Well,  you  may  take  it  from  me,"  he  said,  "  that  Mrs. 
Brown  won't  mind  in  the  least  which  particular  bunches 
of  grapes  are  sent  up  to  her;  and  that  seems  to  be  all 


GARDEN  NOTES  119 

that  you  need  worry  about.  If  any  complaints  are  made, 
you're  quite  at  liberty  to  put  the  blame  on  to  me." 

"  Then,  sir,  I  shall  make  a  complaint.  I  know  my 
duty,  and  what's  expected  from  men  in  my  position — 
I  dare  say  a  good  deal  better  than  you  do.  Ever  since 
I  was  'prenticed  as  a  boy,  I've  worked  in  the  gardens  of 
the  nobility " 

"  Yes,  you  told  me  that  before,"  Alfred  interrupted, 
"  and  it  doesn't  interest  me  at  all.  You're  not  working 
for  the  nobility  now,  and  it's  quite  possible  that  you  may 
have  to  adapt  yourself  to  some  changes.  Now  you've 
made  your  protest,  and  I've  given  you  my  answer.  I 
don't  look  upon  the  houses  or  anything  else  in  this  place 
as  yours,  and  as  long  as  I'm  down  here  I  shall  take  what 
I  like  out  of  them." 

Mackenzie  was  almost  choking  with  rage.  "  If  that's 
the  way  I'm  to  be  spoken  to,  I  shall  give  notice  at  once," 
he  said,  getting  out  his  words  with  difficulty. 

"  I  shouldn't  advise  you  to  be  in  too  great  a  hurry," 
said  Alfred.  "  If  you  do  give  notice,  it  will  probably  be 
accepted.  I'll  say  good-night  to  you  now." 

When  Mackenzie  had  taken  himself  off,  with  no  further 
words,  Alfred  grinned  to  himself.  "  I  don't  believe  any 
of  the  nobility  could  have  done  it  better,"  he  said.  "  Im- 
pudent beast !  " 

Then  his  face  changed.  "  It's  rather  a  shame  to  goad 
him  on,"  he  said,  "  when  I  hold  all  the  trumps.  I'm  not 
going  to  kick  a  man  out  of  his  job  if  I  can  help  it." 

He  wrote  to  his  mother  to  tell  her  how  matters  stood. 
"  All  the  servants  that  you  have  taken  over  seem  to  be 
a  nice  lot,  except  this  fellow.  He  wants  to  tyrannize, 
and  if  you  leave  him  to  me  I'll  put  him  in  his  place,  so 
that  you  will  have  no  trouble  with  him  when  you  come 
down.  On  his  own  lines  I  should  say  he  was  an  excellent 


120  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

man,  and  you  don't  want  to  get  rid  of  him  if  you  can  help 
it."  He  then  went  on  to  tell  her  about  his  garden  plans. 
"  It's  the  greatest  fun  in  the  world,"  he  wrote.  "  The 
heir  of  all  the  Browns  has  taken  very  kindly  to  country 
life,  and  you  may  have  to  put  up  with  his  presence  in  the 
ancestral  castle  more  often  than  you  bargained  for." 

Now  the  head  gardener  at  "  The  Towers  "  had  com- 
ported himself  in  exactly  the  same  way  as  Mackenzie 
proposed  to  do,  and  it  had  suited  Mrs.  Brown  admirably. 
She  took  no  interest  whatever  in  the  processes  of  garden- 
ing, and  as  long  as  any  orders  she  might  give  as  to  what 
was  to  be  brought  into  the  house  were  obeyed,  all  the  rest 
was  left  to  his  discretion.  She  had  interviewed  Mackenzie 
in  a  stately  sort  of  way  during  her  short  stay  at  Kemsale, 
had  given  the  orders  which  he  was  ready  to  carry  out, 
and  left  all  the  rest  to  him.  He  had  rubbed  his  hands  and 
chuckled  to  himself  after  the  interview.  But  he  had  none 
the  less  misread  Mrs.  Brown. 

There  was  a  strain  of  arrogance  in  her  composition, 
which  had  been  heightened  by  the  wealth  at  her  com- 
mand. She  had  envisaged  herself  reigning  at  Kemsale 
with  undisputed  sway.  She  had  been  quite  sincere  when 
she  had  intimated  over  the  tea-table  at  "  The  Towers  " 
that  it  would  be  the  part  of  the  people  living  about  her 
to  cultivate  her,  not  hers  to  cultivate  them.  Whatever 
her  social  success  had  been,  she  had  owed  it  greatly  to 
this  calm  dependence  on  her  position  as  a  woman  much 
richer  than  others.  She  hunted  no  tufts,  but  enough  tufts 
had  hunted  her  to  make  her  believe  that  all  of  them  would, 
of  any  amongst  whom  she  should  be  placed.  If  not,  she 
would  do  without  them.  She  did  not  know  enough  about 
country  life  to  imagine  a  different  kind  of  intercourse 
from  that  with  which  she  had  made  herself  familiar  on 
the  Riviera.  Money  would  surround  her  at  Kemsale; 


GARDEN  NOTES  12l 

money  would  draw  the  people  she  would  want  to  know; 
money  would  do  everything  for  her. 

But  there  were  little  doubts  and  hesitations  at  the  back 
of  her  mind  all  the  time,  and  perhaps  Mackenzie  had 
divined  some  of  them.  Certainly  he  had  "  tried  it  on  " 
with  her,  and  cleverly  enough,  insinuating  information 
as  to  how  things  were  done  in  the  establishments  of  the 
high  nobility,  and  taking  it  for  granted  that  she  would 
like  things  done  in  the  same  way.  So  she  would.  And 
he  was  right  too  in  thinking  that  much  that  he  told  her 
was  news  to  her,  as  it  very  well  might  have  been  if  she 
had  known  a  good  deal  more  than  she  did,  for  his  assump- 
tions had  been  preposterous.  Where  he  was  entirely  wrong 
was  in  thinking  that  she  had  been  awed  into  subjection 
to  him,  and  that  her  haughty  acceptance  of  his  statements 
had  been  the  mere  veneer  to  hide  it.  He  was  quite  ready 
to  play  up  to  her  haughtiness,  if  he  could  have  his  own 
way  in  everything.  But  his  way  happened  to  suit  her. 
Money  was  no  object;  he  could  spend  as  much  money 
as  he  liked,  if  he  obtained  the  right  results.  He  was  to 
supply  the  best  of  everything  that  was  wanted;  how  he 
did  it  was  his  own  affair ;  she  did  not  want  to  be  troubled 
with  details. 

When  Alfred's  letter  came  by  the  same  post  as  Mac- 
kenzie's formal  complaint,  she  was  coldly  angry.  She 
had  half  suspected  Mackenzie  of  trying  to  work  upon  her 
with  his  references  to  the  "  nobility,"  skilfully  as  he 
had  used  them,  but  thought  she  had  shown  him  by  her 
manner  that  he  could  not  impress  her  by  those  means. 
The  same  reference  in  his  letter  was  not  the  least  of  his 
mistakes.  Furthermore,  one  of  her  troubles  about  Alfred 
had  been  that  he  was  too  easy  with  servants.  She  wanted 
him  treated,  as  the  son  of  the  house,  with  the  same  machine- 
like  deference  she  demanded  for  herself;  and  how  could 


122  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHAXGETH 

that  be  expected  when  he  seemed  to  prefer  to  make  friends 
with  them?  This  man  must  have  made  himself  extraor- 
dinarily offensive  if  Alfred  had  taken  notice  of  it.  His 
complaint  to  her  was  a  gross  impertinence,  practically 
demanding  of  her  that  she  should  humiliate  her  son  on 
his  behalf. 

As  for  Alfred,  it  delighted  her  that  he  should  have  taken 
up  this  new  interest  that  would  attach  him  to  Kemsale. 
She  wanted  him  to  play  his  part  there,  and  a  big  part. 
The  alteration  of  a  garden  was  not  much,  but  it  was 
something;  and  the  rest  might  come  to  be  built  upon 
it.  He  had  said  in  his  letter  that  he  liked  the  place,  and 
the  life  of  the  country,  much  better  than  he  had  thought 
he  should.  She  would  see  him  hunting  and  shooting  with 
his  neighbours  after  all,  and  doing  her  credit  as  neither 
her  husband  nor  her  daughter  could.  This  new  taste  of 
his  must  be  encouraged  for  all  it  was  worth. 

She  wrote  and  told  him  to  do  exactly  what  he  liked 
with  his  formal  garden.  He  had  hinted  at  certain  ideas 
for  it  that  he  had  rejected  because  of  expense.  She 
would  be  responsible  for  anything  that  it  might  cost,  and 
she  asked  him  to  write  further  about  it.  so  that  she  might 
interest  herself  in  it  too.  She  had  not  hitherto  cared 
much  for  gardening,  which,  however,  everybody  nowadays 
seemed  to  be  going  mad  about.  If  he  were  going  to  take 
it  up.  she  should  like  to  do  so  too.  At  the  end  of  her 
letter  she  wrote:  "  I  have  written  to  Captain  Fuller  ask- 
ing him  to  dismiss  Mackenzie,  and  find  another  man  who 
knows  how  to  obey  orders." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   HEIR  APPARENT 

IT  must  not  be  supposed  that  Alfred  Brown,  even  in  the 
early  days  of  his  stay  at  Keinsale,  had  been  confined  to 
the  society  of  Mrs.  Parmiter.  However  lightly  he  himself 
may  have  taken  his  position  as  heir  apparent  to  the  trans- 
ferred glories  of  his  house,  it  was  of  importance  enough 
to  others  to  bring  them  about  him  with  attentions  that 
at  first  he  would  rather  have  been  without.  He  was  not, 
however,  of  an  unsociable  habit,  and  before  his  month  at 
Kemsale  was  far  advanced  he  was  glad  to  have  houses  to 
go  to  and  people  to  talk  with. 

Captain  Fuller  he  fell  in  with  on  the  first  morning, 
immediately  after  he  had  come  in  from  his  exploration  of 
the  garden,  for  Fuller  was  keeping  an  eye  upon  the  work- 
men engaged  in  the  house,  and  spent  some  time  there 
every  day.  Fuller,  acting  upon  instructions,  asked  him 
to  luncheon.  He  refused  for  that  day,  but  finding  that 
he  should  have  to  accept  some  time  or  other  accepted 
for  the  next.  Barton's  Farm  was  the  first  house  in  wkich 
he  was  entertained  at  Kemsale,  and  Mrs.  Fuller's  satis- 
faction was  deep  and  sustaining. 

When  Mrs.  Brown  had  come  down  to  Kemsale  with  her 
sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Fuller  had  been  all  over  her.  The 
phrase  may  be  a  vulgar  one,  but  Mrs.  Fuller  was  a  vulgar 
woman.  Aunt  Millie  saw  it;  Mrs.  Brown  did  not.  But 
then  Mrs.  Fuller  took  a  great  deal  more  trouble  with 
Mrs.  Brown  than  she  did  with  Aunt  Millie.  Aunt  Millie 
was  a  poor  relation,  in  her  eyes,  because  she  never  put 

123 


124  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

herself  forward,  and  was  always  very  quietly  dressed. 
And  such  women  as  Mrs.  Fuller  find  it  difficult  to  dis- 
guise their  contempt  for  poor  relations.  She  did  her  best 
in  this  instance,  because  Mrs.  Brown  was  evidently  fond 
of  Aunt  Millie,  but  her  best  only  amounted  to  an  occa- 
sional address,  in  which  patronage  was  at  least  as  much 
apparent  as  courtesy,  and  she  would  have  been  surprised 
to  learn  how  closely  the  bright  but  quiet  little  lady  had 
taken  her  measure. 

Mrs.  Brown  was  not  at  home  to  visitors  during  her 
brief  sojourn,  but  as  she  had  to  be  in  constant  communi- 
cation with  Captain  Fuller,  who  had  immediately  entered 
upon  his  new  duties  in  connection  with  the  house,  it  was 
not  possible  to  escape  the  attentions  of  his  wife.  These 
had  been  most  skilfully  brought  to  bear.  Mrs.  Fuller 
had  made  herself  useful;  she  had  made  herself  pleasant; 
she  had  burnt  incense  of  a  delicate  aroma ;  she  had  made 
good  her  footing.  After  the  three  days'  campaign,  wear- 
ing but  exciting,  she  was  entitled  to  congratulate  herself 
upon  the  success,  as  far  as  Mrs.  Brown  was  concerned, 
of  the  tactics  in  which  she  placed  such  reliance.  She  had 
bluffed  herself  into  being  accepted  as  something  other 
than  she  was. 

Her  knowledge  of  dress  had  done  most  for  her.  In 
this  she  could  not  have  deceived  Mrs.  Brown,  however 
hard  she  had  tried.  But  she  really  knew.  She  had  been 
a  dressmaker — a  lady  dressmaker,  of  course — say  a  modiste. 
She  did  not  seek  to  hide  it.  She  had  been  poor,  and 
"  one  must  do  something." 

And  since  she  had  lived  at  Kemsale  her  husband's  posi- 
tion had  given  her  opportunities  for  lynx-eyed  observa- 
tion. She  could  reproduce  the  manners  of  the  elite,  if 
the  effort  required  was  not  too  long  sustained.  She  could 
be  quiet  and  self-possessed  in  the  grand  style,  or  in  close 


THE  HEIR  APPARENT  125 

imitation  of  it.  She  could  assume  natural  manners,  e:: 
tremely  unnatural  to  herself.  She  could  create  the  effec'. 
of  being  in  her  native  air  when  in  touch  with  great  wealth 
but  of  being  quite  unashamed  of  her  own  state  of  compara- 
tive poverty.  She  knew  well  what  a  bad  card  fulsomeness 
is,  and  restrained  her  persistent  inclination  to  play  it. 
Her  flattery  was  of  the  most  delicate  kind,  and  her  only 
mistake  was  in  not  exercising  it  towards  Aunt  Millie,  who 
might  possibly  have  been  taken  in  by  it,  but,  as  it  was, 
saw  right  through  her  as  if  she  had  been  made  of  glass, 
and  was  only  restrained  from  saying  so  by  considerations 
that  concerned  her  own  rather  difficult  position.  She  was 
strong  in  her  determination  not  to  allow  herself  to  be 
influenced  by  her  sister-in-law's  riches ;  she  would  say 
nothing  to  warn  her  against  a  woman  whom  she  saw  to 
be  influenced  towards  her  by  nothing  else,  for  fear  of 
being  misunderstood. 

So  Mrs.  Fuller  had  her  triumph  for  the  time  being. 
When  Mrs.  Brown  left  Kemsale  she  thought  of  Mrs.  Fuller 
as  an  agreeable,  well-connected  woman,  who  had  rather 
thrown  herself  away,  but  had  made  the  best  of  it,  and 
would  never  presume  upon  the  intimacy  to  which  she 
seemed  entitled.  She  asked  her  to  propose  herself  for 
luncheon  in  Berkeley  Square  if  she  should  happen  to  be 
in  London.  They  might,  perhaps,  have  an  afternoon's 
shopping  together.  And  they  would  be  seeing  more  of 
one  another  when  she  settled  at  Kemsale  in  the  spring. 

Mrs.  Fuller's  reward  seemed  assured  when  Alfred,  on 
his  introduction  to  her,  amiably  told  her  that  he  had 
heard  about  her  from  his  mother,  who  had  rather  hoped 
to  have  seen  her  in  London  before  this.  His  speech  ex- 
hibited a  shade  more  cordiality  than  his  mother's  had 
done,  and  seemed  to  imply  a  willingness  towards  cordial- 
ity on  his  own  part  which  made  Mrs.  Fuller  very  happy. 


126  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

The  more  members  of  the  family  she  could  draw  into  her 
circle  the  stronger  her  position  with  her  patroness  would 
be.  Alfred,  at  least,  should  return  to  London  with  golden 
accounts  of  her. 

As  for  the  match  between  him  and  Irene,  upon  which 
her  thoughts  had,  of  course,  been  busy,  great  care  must 
be  exercised  at  the  present  time.  She  saw  now  that  the 
Rector  had  been  too  patently  pursued.  It  had  been  proved 
to  be  so  much  more  effective  to  cover  up  all  signs  of  pur- 
suit, while  none  the  less  eagerly  pursuing.  The  same 
subdued  note  as  she  had  used  with  Mrs.  Brown  would 
be  imperative  here.  Alfred  must  never  suspect  that  Irene 
was  being  thrown  in  his  way.  She  must  be  her  mother's 
precious  treasure,  destined  for  great  things,  but  with  no 
thought  of  finding  them,  so  to  speak,  on  the  premises. 
She  thought  she  could  do  it,  if  Irene  played  up;  and 
she'd  better. 

The  luncheon,  though  simple,  as  became  what  was  no 
more  than  a  farmhouse,  was  well  served.  The  room  looked 
what  it  should  always  have  looked — the  bright,  tidy,  cosy 
living-room  of  a  modest  but  well-cared-for  home.  It  drew 
admiration  from  Alfred,  who  had  a  taste  for  domestic 
simplicity. 

"  Well,  it  is  rather  nice,"  Mrs.  Fuller  admitted,  looking 
round  upon  it  as  if  she  saw  it  for  the  first  time,  "  but 
it  isn't  quite  what  we've  been  accustomed  to.  We  came 
here  for  a  few  months,  and  have  stayed  for  fifteen  years. 
We  shall  be  sorry  for  some  things  to  leave  the  old  place, 
but " 

"  We're  not  going  to  leave  it,"  interrupted  her  husband 
doggedly.  He  had  fought  her  over  this  day  in  and  day 
out  ever  since  he  had  brought  the  news  of  his  increase  of 
income.  And  he  would  go  on  fighting  against  any  un- 
scrupulous attack  she  might  bring  to  bear  upon  him. 


THE  HEIR  APPARENT  127 

Only  the  flicker  of  an  eyelid  showed  Mrs.  Fuller's  an- 
noyance. "  Ah,  that's  a  little  matter  of  friendly  dispute 
between  us,"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  "  But  I  shall  get 
my  own  way  in  the  end." 

Irene  was  quiet  during  the  progress  of  the  meal,  and 
hardly  spoke  except  when  she  was  spoken  to.  This  was 
chiefly  from  laziness,  but  her  air  of  indifference  towards 
the  much-dowered  young  man  fitted  in  admirably  with 
her  mother's  ideas.  It  drew  Alfred  to  go  a  trifle  out  of 
his  way  to  include  her  in  the  conversation,  and  Mrs.  Fuller 
thought  she  detected  a  dawning  interest  in  him  which 
was  almost  more  than  could  have  been  hoped  for  at  this 
very  early  stage.  When  he  suggested  that  they  should 
all  go  out  somewhere  in  the  car,  and  the  two  ladies  went 
up  to  prepare  themselves,  she  said  to  her  daughter,  with 
suppressed  excitement:  "  My  dear,  you're  behaving  splen- 
didly. Don't  let  him  see  yet  that  you're  in  the  least 
interested  in  him." 

Irene  looked  at  her  with  her  large  eyes,  and  went  into 
her  room  without  speaking.  She  drifted  up  to  a  looking- 
glass  and  surveyed  herself.  "  I'm  not  in  .the  least  inter- 
ested in  him,"  she  said.  "  Nor  in  old  Compton  either. 
I  wish  mother  would  leave  me  alone." 

They  drove  far  afield,  and  touched  the  bounds  of  the 
estate  at  many  points,  but  hardly  went  outside  it.  The 
progress  was  made  semi-royal  by  Mrs.  Fuller.  "  All  these 
roads  and  lanes  thread  your  father's  property,"  was  the 
note  of  her  pointings.  "  All  these  rich  meadows,  fat 
ploughlands,  deep  woods,  meandering  streams ;  all  these 
snug  farmhouses,  pretty  cottages,  churches,  vicarages, 
manor-houses,  and  villas  are  his."  And  from  beneath  it 
all  peeked  out  the  consciousness :  "  And  they  will  all  be 
yours  some  day." 

Fuller    sat   in    front   beside   the    chauffeur,    and    turned 


128  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

round  every  now  and  then  with  a  word  of  explanation. 
Alfred  sat  on  the  back  seat  opposite  to  Irene,  who,  lulled 
by  the  soft  air  and  swift  motion,  and  the  after  effects  of 
a  luncheon  rather  larger  than  she  was  accustomed  to, 
found  it  difficult  to  keep  her  eyes  open,  and  impossible  to 
arouse  herself  to  conversation.  Alfred  occasionally  ad- 
dressed a  word  to  her,  and  looked  at  her  frequently,  with 
a  good-natured  expression  which  Mrs.  Fuller  translated 
into  admiration.  It  was  all  going  as  well  as  it  could  be 
expected  to  go. 

They  had  come  into  a  long  stretch  of  straight  road,  at 
the  other  end  of  which  appeared  a  black  figure  on  a  horse. 
"  Here  comes  the  Rector,"  said  Fuller,  turning  round. 

"  Oh,  stop  him,"  said  Mrs.  Fuller  eagerly.  "  It  will 
be  a  good  opportunity  to  introduce  him  to  Mr.  Alfred." 
He  was  to  be  called  so,  she  had  explained  with  friendly 
emphasis,  to  distinguish  him  from  his  father. 

The  car,  which  was  going  at  a  considerable  pace,  began 
to  slow  down;  the  black  figure  came  trotting  along  the 
road  towards  it.  Mrs.  Fuller  leaned  out,  and  the  Rector's 
face  darkened  as  he  saw  who  it  was  that  was  about  to 
stop  him.  He  could  hardly  avoid  reining  up,  as  the  car 
had  come  to  a  standstill,  and  the  lady  was  so  very  insistent. 
He  took  off  his  hat  without  a  smile,  and  looked  at  her 
inquiringly. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Compton,  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  Mr. 
Alfred  Brown,  who  has  come  to  stay  here  for  a  few  days." 

Compton  said :  "  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?  "  still  without  a 
smile,  and  then  trotted  on,  with  his  face  disagreeably  set. 

"  He  didn't  seem  violently  anxious  to  know  me,"  said 
Alfred,  whose  first  impulse  was  to  salve  over  the  affront 
to  the  lady's  feelings. 

But  Mrs.  Fuller,  besides  being  not  altogether  unaccus- 
tomed to  such  affronts  in  that  and  other  quarters,  had 


THE  HEIR  APPARENT  129 

fulfilled  her  object,  which  was  to  display  herself  and  her 
daughter  in  intimate  contact  with  the  heir  apparent.  "  Oh, 
you  never  know  how  to  take  Mr.  Compton/'  she  said 
lightly.  "  I  suppose  he's  been  cubbing,  a  long  way  from 
home,  and  feels  hungry.  He'll  call  on  you  now  he  knows 
you  are  here.  We  don't  care  for  him  much  ourselves,  but 
of  course  you  have  to  keep  in  with  the  parson  of  your 
village  to  some  extent." 

"  Well,  I  bain't  terr'ble  wrapped  up  in  parsons  myself," 
said  Alfred.  "  I  don't  much  care  if  he  doesn't  call  on  me." 

"  Of  course,  he's  not  quite  like  ordinary  parsons,"  said 
Mrs.  Fuller.  "  He's  the  brother  of  a  peer,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  He's  quite  a  person  to  know  in  this  part 
of  the  world,  though  he  shuts  himself  up  a  good  deal. 
One  has  to  make  allowances  for  him." 

Alfred  began  to  feel  a  doubt  as  to  whether  Mrs.  Fuller 
wasn't,  after  all,  rather  a  tiresome  sort  of  person.  She 
seemed  to  be  a  bit  of  a  snob.  No  woman  who  respected 
herself  would  have  taken  the  man's  rudeness  in  that  way, 
or  have  run  the  risk  of  meeting  with  it  if  she  knew  that 
it  might  be  offered.  That  he  was  "  the  brother  of  a  peer, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,"  should  not  have  been  consid- 
ered a  palliation.  It  certainly  should  not  be  as  far  as 
he  himself  was  concerned.  If  the  Rector  did  call  on  him, 
which  seemed  unlikely,  he  would  not  see  him,  or  return 
his  call. 

He  was,  in  fact,  angry,  though  he  showed  no  signs  of 
it.  He  was  aware  that  there  might  be  some  feeling  against 
people  like  himself  and  his  parents  taking  the  place  of 
people  like  the  Meadshires,  which  was  one  of  the  reasons 
why  he  had  kept  himself  somewhat  aloof  from  the  dis- 
cussions and  preparations  that  had  gone  on  in  his  family 
with  regard  to  Kemsale.  He  was  not  going  to  spoil  his 
happy  freedom  by  settling  himself  in  a  position  where 


130  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  all  that  sort  of  thing  "  was  of  such  importance.  It  was 
of  none  whatever  to  him.  Most  people  claim  to  be  indif- 
ferent to  rank,  but  Alfred  really  was  so.  He  was  ready 
to  make  friends  with  all  and  sundry;  he  was  incapable  of 
resting  himself  upon  the  accidents  of  his  own  birth  with 
those  less  fortunate  than  himself,  or  of  paying  court  to 
anybody  because  of  the  accidents  of  theirs.  The  whole 
question  of  rank  and  wealth,  as  it  affected  a  man,  was  a 
nuisance.  The  j  oiliest  companions  he  had  known  had 
had  neither.  So  it  had  come  to  pass  that  he  had  rather 
kept  out  of  the  way  of  those  who  were  gilded  with  "  all 
that  sort  of  thing."  They  might  be  as  jolly  as  anybody; 
he  had  come  across  those  that  were;  but  more  probably 
their  standards  would  be  different  from  his.  Better 
not  run  the  risk.  There  were  plenty  of  others  in  the 
world. 

And  now  Mrs.  Fuller  had  let  him  in  for  a  snub  from  a 
person  of  the  suspected  class,  and  had  taken  it  for  granted 
that  he  would  swallow  the  snub  because  of  the  class.  He 
was  as  much  annoyed  with  her  as  with  the  person  who 
had  dealt  it. 

He  dropped  the  Fullers  at  Barton's  Farm  as  dusk  fell, 
and  refused  to  come  in  to  tea.  He  was  already  rather 
tired  of  the  Fullers,  and  wanted  to  get  back  to  his  cosy 
room  and  his  garden  designing. 

He  was  not,  however,  to  enjoy  his  solitude  just  yet. 
As  he  got  out  of  the  car,  Douglas  Irving  was  just  turning 
away  from  the  door. 

He  introduced  himself.  "  Fuller  told  me  you  were  here 
for  a  day  or  two,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  I'd  look  you  up, 
and  see  if  I  could  do  anything  for  you.  You  can't  be 
very  comfortable  here  with  all  this  mess  about." 

Alfred  was  rather  pleased  to  see  a  man  near  to  hii 
own  age  than  any  he  had  talked  with  for  the  last  few 


THE  HEIR  APPARENT  131 

days.  And  there  was  something  about  Douglas's  frank 
and  natural  address  that  attracted  him. 

"Not  comfortable?"  he  echoed.  "You  come  in  and 
see." 

They  were  standing  before  a  side  entrance,  more  fre- 
quently used  than  the  main  one.  Alfred  led  the  way 
through  a  hall  and  passage  full  of  the  ladders  and  gear 
of  the  decorators,  and  down  a  flight  of  stone  stairs  to 
the  echoing  basement.  He  threw  open  a  door.  "  There ! 
What  can  you  want  more  comfortable  than  that? "  he 
asked. 

A  fire  of  logs  was  burning  on  the  hearth;  a  lamp  was 
on  the  table,  and  lighted  candles  on  the  high  chimney- 
piece.  The  curtains  were  close  drawn;  toasted  muffins 
were  keeping  up  their  circulation  on  an  old  brass  grid  in 
front  of  the  fire,  and  a  copper  kettle  was  purring  on  the 
hob.  The  invaluable  Mrs.  Parmiter  had  even  put  Alfred's 
felt  slippers  to  warm  against  the  fender,  although  he  was 
not  accustomed  to  wear  them,  except  in  his  bedroom. 
She  had  a  genius  for  creating  an  atmosphere. 

"  It  looks  like  a  poem  by  Cowper,"  said  Douglas.  "  Who 
would  have  thought  there  was  a  room  like  this  in  this 
barrack  of  a  place?  " 

Alfred  had  thrown  a  searching  look  at  him  when  they 
had  come  in  to  the  light.  He  was  not  quite  as  young 
as  he  had  thought,  but  he  felt  inclined  to  like  him  extremely. 
Young  men  do  take  sudden  fancies  to  men  older  than 
themselves.  Douglas  Irving,  with  his  military  bearing 
and  his  well-cut  country  clothes,  had  all  the  air  of  belong- 
ing to  the  class  upon  which  Alfred  was  accustomed  to 
look  askance,  but  he  forgot  all  that,  and  pressed  him  to 
sit  down  and  make  himself  at  home.  Tea  would  be  in 
directly. 

"  I've  had  tea,"  said  Douglas,  "  but  there  weren't  any 


132  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

muffins.  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Parmiter?  Got  somebody 
to  look  after  again,  eh?  " 

Douglas  talked  about  shooting.  Alfred  began  to  fear 
that  his  type  was  too  pronounced  to  afford  probability 
of  common  interests,  in  spite  of  the  reference  to  a  poet 
not  usually  read  by  sportsmen.  He  laughed  when  he  him- 
self was  invited  to  shoot.  "  I've  never  fired  a  gun  in  my 
life/'  he  said.  "  It's  a  bit  late  to  begin  now." 

"  Not  a  bit/'  said  Douglas.  "  You'll  certainly  want  to 
shoot  if  you're  going  to  live  here.  Come  out  with  me 
some  morning  quietly;  I'll  lend  you  a  gun  and  put  you 
up  to  it.  You'll  be  as  keen  as  mustard  when  you've 
brought  down  your  first  pheasant." 

"  It's  most  awfully  good  of  you,"  said  Alfred.  "  Per- 
haps I  will  some  day,  but  you'll  find  me  an  awful  duffer. 
I've  never  gone  in  for  sport;  never  wanted  to;  I've  had 
all  sorts  of  other  things  to  do.  Still,  if  you'd  put  me  in 
the  way  of  it,  I  might  give  it  a  chance." 

Douglas  did  not  quite  know  what  to  make  of  him.  He 
had  not  expected  Armitage  Brown's  son  to  be  like  this. 
He  had  pictured  a  young  man  either  inclined  to  give 
himself  airs  because  of  his  potential  command  of  money, 
or  inclined  to  subservience  through  not  being  quite  sure 
of  himself.  But  this  young  man  had  thanked  him  with 
warmth  for  his  offer,  without  a  trace  of  subservience,  and 
had  admitted  his  ignorance  of  what  a  purse-proud  young 
man  would  prefer  to  be  thought  to  know  something  about. 
He  was  "  all  right "  too,  according  to  Douglas's  stand- 
ard— boots  not  quite  thick  enough  for  country  wear,  but 
collar  and  tie  correct,  and  suit  such  as  anybody  might 
wear  who  didn't  care  to  go  to  the  expense  of  having  his 
tweeds  made  in  Savile  Row.  His  manner  and  speech  were 
"  all  right  "  too.  He  was,  in  fact,  a  "  gentleman." 

But   still,   there   was    something   about  him   that  didn't 


THE  HEIR  APPARENT  133 

exactly  fit  in  with  the  ordinary  public  school  type,  whose 
virtues  and  limitations  alike  such  men  as  Douglas  Irving 
feel  most  at  home  with.  The  sons  of  self-made  men  are 
sent  to  big  schools  and  turned  out  to  pattern;  and  if 
possessing  no  salient  characteristics  of  their  own  are  in- 
distinguishable from  the  sons  of  fathers  who  are  not  self- 
made.  Their  address  to  their  fellows  is  as  careless  and 
as  unenthusiastic;  they  don't  "  swank  ";  their  tastes,  habits, 
and  appearance  are  woven  on  the  same  loom.  But  this 
young  man  did  not  conform  in  all  respects.  There  seemed 
to  be  a  thread  of  originality  woven  into  his  tissue,  and 
originality  is  suspect  until  it  is  known  on  what  grounds  it 
rests.  Still,  he  was  inclined  to  like  the  fellow.  He  was 
very  heavily  gilded,  which  might  induce  liking  or  the 
reverse,  according  to  circumstances.  If  he  were  not  him- 
self inclined  to  protrude  the  gilding  it  would  not  make 
him  the  less  likable. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself,  if  you  haven't 
had  time  for  sport?  "  Douglas  asked. 

"  Oh,  painting  and  writing  a  bit,  and  wandering  about 
generally.  I  tried  the  City  for  a  year  when  I  came  down 
from  Cambridge,  but  it  didn't  suit  me  at  all.  I  suppose 
you  might  call  me  a  sort  of  Bohemian." 

He  said  it  with  an  engaging  smile.  He  wanted  to  stand 
well  with  this  older  man,  and  doubted  whether  his  sym- 
pathies would  extend  as  far  as  any  sort  of  Bohemianism. 
Cambridge  had  been  thrown  in  as  a  sop  to  his  supposed 
prejudices  in  favour  of  a  conventional  career. 

Douglas  was  entirely  satisfied.  The  ground  was  cleared. 
His  own  tastes  were  not  Bohemian,  but  they  were  artistic 
within  limits.  He  would  never  have  chosen  those  interests 
of  his  as  an  opening  for  conversation,  but  he  was  quite  as 
ready  to  talk  about  them  as  about  sport.  They  got  on 
well  together  after  that.  Douglas  stayed  for  an  hour, 


134  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

and  Alfred  promised  to  dine  at  Little  Kemsale  the  next 
evening. 

"Oh,  Douglas,  I  think  he's  a  dear/'  said  Beatrix,  when 
the  dinner  had  been  duly  eaten,  and  Alfred  had  gone  away 
at  a  late  hour  of  the  evening.  "  He's  not  a  bit  spoilt." 

They  went  back  to  the  library.  "  You'd  hardly  expect 
a  fellow  of  that  parentage  to  turn  out  as  he  has,"  said 
Douglas.  "  He  seems  to  be  bored  by  it  all.  I  must  say 
it's  a  great  feather  in  his  cap  that  he  takes  it  as  he  does. 
It  makes  one  like  him  extraordinarily.  If  the  rest  of 
them  are  like  that,  we  shall  have  some  very  jolly  new 
neighbours." 

"  I  don't  think  they  are.  At  least,  his  mother  isn't,  if 
she's  anything  like  Tottie's  description  of  her.  A  high 
and  mighty  lady,  as  one  might  have  expected." 

"  Really,  Tottie's  the  limit !  "  exclaimed  Douglas.  "  It's 
plain  she's  got  her  claws  into  this  youth.  Wants  him  for 
Irene,  I  suppose." 

"  I  think  he  sees  through  her  all  right.  I  like  him  for 
not  saying  things  against  her.  Douglas,  Mr.  Compton 
seems  to  have  been  awfully  rude  to  him." 

Douglas  considered  this.  "  Of  course  he  hates  the 
Browns  coming  here,"  he  said.  "  But  surely  he  can't  be 
meaning  to  cut  them  altogether." 

"  It  looks  like  it.  But  I  suppose  it  was  Tottie  and  Irene 
he  really  shied  at.  Can't  you  see  how  Tottie  would  behave? 
'  Here's  somebody  much  better  worth  getting  hold  of  than 
you  are.'  That's  what  would  stick  out  of  her." 

Douglas  smiled  and  pinched  her  chin.  "How  unchar- 
itable you  are,"  he  said.  "  What  should  we  do  without 
our  Tottie?  But  I  do  think  it's  a  bit  too  bad  of  Compton, 
all  the  same.  You  couldn't  have  a  nicer  fellow  than  young 
Brown  is — modest  and  bright  and  clever.  Oh,  I  think 
he's  an  acquisition.  I  expect  Bill  and  the  rest  of  them 


THE  HEIR  APPARENT  135 

will  like  him.  I'll  teach  him  to  shoot,  and  he  shall  come 
out  with  us  when  we  have  a  quiet  day.  I  expect  he'll  be 
asking  us  to  shoot  next  year.  May  as  well  make  friends 
with  the  Mammon  of  unrighteousness,  anyhow." 

"  I  shall  tell  Grace  how  nice  he  is,"  said  Beatrix.  "  I 
wonder  if  Lord  Meadshire  will  call  on  him." 

"  Not  he,"  said  Douglas.  "  He's  got  his  knife  into 
the  Browns  and  everything  and  everybody  connected  with 
them." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  CHANCEL  PEW 

ON  Sunday  morning  Alfred  went  to  church,  which  was 
not  his  usual  practice.  But  here  in  the  country  it  seemed 
to  be  part  of  the  delightful  leisurely  progress  of  things. 
You  got  up  in  the  morning  with  a  sense  of  the  day  being 
different  from  other  days.  You  marked  the  difference 
by  the  clothes  you  put  on.  You  had  sausages  for  break- 
fast, if  you  were  looked  after  by  a  Mrs.  Parmiter.  After 
breakfast  it  was  almost  your  duty  to  idle  until  church 
time,  and  the  idleness  was  pleasant,  as  it  would  not  have 
been  if  you  had  felt  you  were  wasting  the  morning.  Church 
was  a  mild  excitement,  tuned  to  the  key  of  the  day.  You 
met  people,  going  and  coming,  whom  you  knew;  you  saw 
them  and  other  people  at  a  new  angle,  and  joined  with 
them  in  various  acts  of  at  least  some  social  significance. 
The  cigarette  that  you  lit  immediately  you  were  clear  of 
the  churchyard  was  better  than  other  cigarettes,  and  you 
would  be  quite  ready  when  the  time  came  for  your  luncheon, 
or  early  dinner,  which  with  a  Mrs.  Parmiter  at  the  helm 
would  certainly  include  roast  beef. 

And  so  on  throughout  the  day — slight  changes  in  occu- 
pation and  in  consequent  outlook,  which  brought  you  to 
the  end  of  it  with  renewed  zest  for  the  usual  activities  of 
the  week.  But  to  taste  the  full  flavour  of  the  day  you 
must  go  to  church,  at  least  in  the  morning. 

Alfred  went  rather  early.  He  had  been  at  Kemsale 
five  days  now,  and  it  had  begun  to  dawn  upon  him  that 
he  was  expected  to  play  a  part.  The  indications  had 

136 


THE  CHANCEL  PEW  137 

been  subtle  but  pervasive,  and  there  had  been  nothing  as 
yet  to  alarm  him.  But  in  his  general  ignorance  of  what 
might  be  expected  of  him  he  was  inclined  to  be  watchful, 
and  it  had  occurred  to  him  as  he  was  dressing  that  there 
might  be  some  question  of  a  squire's  pew,  which  he  would 
be  expected  to  occupy.  He  had  no  intention  of  occupying 
a  conspicuous  position  of  any  sort,  and  thought  he  might 
escape  the  risk  of  being  asked  to  do  so  by  slipping  into 
the  church  ten  minutes  or  so  before  the  service  began. 

He  did  so,  and  found  himself  alone  there,  except  for 
the  sexton,  who  was  pulling  at  one  of  the  ropes  that  hung 
in  front  of  the  closed  west  doors,  and  two  old  women  in 
black  bonnets,  with  their  heads  close  together,  in  a  pew 
near  him.  There  were  six  crisp  loaves  of  bread  on  an  old 
coffer  that  stood  against  the  north-west  wall  of  the  church, 
and  before  any  one  else  entered  four  more  old  women  came 
and  joined  the  first  two,  one  of  them  advancing  a  surrepti- 
tious finger  towards  the  loaves  as  she  passed  them.  They 
were  the  recipients  of  Cope's  Charity,  Cope  having  been 
in  his  grave  for  the  last  two  hundred  years  or  more,  and 
being  therefore  responsible  for  at  least  sixty  thousand 
attendances  at  divine  worship  on  the  part  of  the  successive 
old  women  who  had  carried  off  his  loaves  during  that 
period. 

Kemsale  Church  dated  from  the  fourteenth  century.  It 
was  of  noble  proportions,  and  its  great  square  tower  was 
a  landmark  for  miles  around.  Its  interior  had  points  of 
interest  here  and  there,  but  its  character  had  been  much 
lessened  by  an  elaborate  restoration  that  it  had  undergone 
some  fifty  years  before.  It  was  too  large  for  any  con- 
gregation that  was  ever  likely  to  gather  in  it,  except  on 
the  occasion  of  a  Meadshire  wedding  or  funeral,  and  the 
seating  that  had  been  put  in  left  broad  open  spaces  which 
to  some  extent  redeemed  the  havoc  it  had  undergone. 


138  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

Alfred  seated  himself  in  as  retiring  a  position  as  he 
could  find,  but  there  was  none  in  which  he  could  not  be 
seen  by  any  one  entering  the  church,  except  a  large  double 
pew  behind  a  carved  screen  in  the  chancel.  This  was 
probably  the  pew  that  went  with  the  house,  and  he  thought 
that,  after  all,  he  would  have  been  more  comfortable  in  it 
than  elsewhere. 

But  did  it  go  with  the  house?  A  few  villagers  had 
trickled  in,  but  he  had  not  been  in  the  church  more  than 
three  minutes  before  a  middle-aged  man  with  a  red  face, 
followed  by  a  tall  thin  lady  with  a  pale  one,  entered  and 
walked  straight  up  the  nave  to  take  their  places  in  this 
pew.  Alfred  had  no  difficulty  in  identifying  them  as  Lord 
Meadshire  and  Lady  Grace  Ettien,  and  felt  some  sur- 
prise at  the  stare  with  which  Meadshire  surveyed  him  and 
the  frown  that  showed  itself  when  he  had  evidently  iden- 
tified him  in  turn.  Lady  Grace  had  also  looked  at  him, 
and  as  she  had  followed  her  brother  up  the  aisle  she  had 
blushed  and  seemed  ill  at  ease. 

Alfred  took  it  that  they — or  rather  Meadshire — had 
heard  that  he  was  at  Kemsale,  and  had  come  early  to 
church  for  a  similar  reason  to  his  own,  to  occupy  the  posi- 
tion they  wished.  Supposing  they  had  found  him  already 
in  the  chancel  pew !  He  smiled  when  he  thought  how  their 
respective  desires  fitted  in.  And  then  he  felt  rather  serious. 
Was  this  man,  whose  property  his  father  had  bought  at  a 
high  price,  going  to  take  up  a  position  of  hostility  towards 
them  for  no  other  reason  than  that  they  were  the  pur- 
chasers of  what  he  had  had  to  sell?  If  so,  surely  this 
was  rather  a  small  way  of  showing  it.  It  did  not  occur 
to  him  until  later  that  the  laying  claim  to  what  had 
obviously  been  the  Meadshire  family  pew  might  be  a  con- 
sidered act  of  aggression  which  the  new  owner  of  Kemsale 
would  be  invited  to  fight.  It  was  quite  possible  that  the 


THE  CHANCEL  PEW  139 

rights  to  the  pew  did  go  with  the  house,  and  had  been 
bought  with  all  the  rest.  He  hoped  his  father  would  not 
consent  to  fight  at  all  on  such  a  question,  but  it  was  dis- 
turbing to  feel  that  enmity  was  to  be  shown  from  the 
first  by  people  who,  so  far  as  he  knew,  had  no  reason 
to  show  any. 

The  school  children  clattered  in,  and  up  the  wooden 
stairs  to  the  gallery ;  farmers  and  their  wives  and  families, 
cottagers,  little  shopkeepers  from  the  village,  began  to  fill 
the  pews. 

The  Rector  came  in,  and  passed  close  to  where  Alfred 
was  sitting.  He  allowed  his  gaze  to  rest  upon  him  for 
a  moment  and  went  on  to  his  vestry.  It  was  made  plain, 
in  some  indefinable  way,  that  his  failure  to  give  him  any 
sign  of  recognition  was  not  because  this  was  not  the  time 
or  place  to  give  such  signs,  but  because  he  had  no  inten- 
tion of  giving  them  at  all. 

Miss  Merriman  came  in — a  short,  grey-haired  lady  in 
old-fashioned  attire,  whom  Alfred  knew  to  be  the  present 
occupant  of  "  The  Limes."  She  was  well  off,  and  much 
given  to  good  works.  She  was  accompanied  by  three  young 
girls  in  the  most  elaborate  London  attire,  who  caused  con- 
siderable attention  amongst  the  congregation,  and  seemed 
to  enjoy  it,  although  all  three  of  them  behaved  beautifully, 
and  sang  psalms  and  hymns  in  such  a  way  that  everybody 
listened  to  them.  They  were  members  of  some  Actresses' 
Guild  in  which  the  good  lady  was  interested.  She  often 
produced  week-end  visitors  of  an  unconventional  descrip- 
tion. She  had  once  brought  six  London  flower-girls  to 
Kemsale  Church,  shawls,  large-feathered  hats,  and  all;  but 
they  had  also  behaved  very  well. 

The  Irvings  came  in,  Woozle  held  firmly  by  her  father 
and  Jimbo  by  his  mother,  so  as  to  subdue  any  untimely 
exuberance  of  spirit. 


140  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

The  Fullers  came  in,  and  upon  seeing  Alfred,  who  had 
by  this  time  realized  that  he  had  taken  up  a  position  not 
usually  occupied  in  that  assembly  by  a  man  with  a  gold 
ring,  Mrs.  Fuller  paused,  and  issued  whispered  instructions 
to  her  husband  to  invite  him  to  a  seat  with  them  in  the 
middle  of  the  church.  He  refused  the  offer,  somewhat 
annoyed  that  it  should  have  been  so  ostentatiously  made. 

He  regarded  the  Rector  with  some  interest,  as  he  went 
through  the  service,  and  occasionally  turned  his  gaze  upon 
the  pair  in  the  chancel  pew,  who  were  in  full  view  of  the 
church  when  they  stood  up.  Here  were  two  people,  if 
not  three,  out  of  those  who  were  ostensibly  gathered  to- 
gether to  perform  an  act  that  implied  peace  and  charity 
between  them — two  people,  if  not  three,  who  had  put 
themselves  into  a  position  of  hostility  towards  him,  a 
stranger,  and  had  not  scrupled  to  show  it  in  this  place — 
had  even  made  use  of  this  place  to  show  it  in.  Like 
many  who  confess  to  no  creed,  Alfred  had  a  deep  respect 
for  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  wherever  it  showed  itself, 
and  could  not  but  think  it  odd  that  people  who  made 
public  profession  of  their  beliefs,  and  amongst  them  one 
who  had  set  himself  apart  to  teach  them,  should  show 
so  little.  The  sense  of  personal  enmity,  which  he  had 
done  nothing  to  deserve,  disturbed  him,  who  was  so  ready 
to  show  goodwill  to  all  men.  It  spoilt  the  serenity  without 
which,  careless  as  he  was,  he  would  not  have  cared  to  take 
part  in  a  church  service.  It  destroyed  the  sense  that  he 
would  otherwise  have  enjoyed  in  such  a  church  as  this,  of 
a  little  company  of  people,  most  of  whom  knew  one  another 
in  their  daily  lives,  gathered  together,  on  the  day  of  rest, 
in  peace  and  concord. 

The  Rector  read  the  service  in  a  monotonous,  conven- 
tional tone,  and  the  lessons  in  the  same  way.  His  sermon 
was  short  and  academic,  showing  no  signs  of  the  wide 


THE  CHANCEL  PEW  141 

knowledge  with  which  his  mind  was  stored,  or  indeed  of 
any  qualities  above  the  ordinary,  either  of  head  or  of 
heart.  It  was  difficult  to  imagine  him  moved  in  his  actions 
or  impulses  by  principles  other  than  those  which  any 
decent-living,  well-educated  Englishman  of  no  religious 
faith  whatever  would  acknowledge.  Perhaps  his  faith 
gave  him  some  hope  for  the  future ;  probably  he  found 
in  it  support  for  some  of  the  opinions  he  had  formed  on 
mundane  affairs.  It  did  not  seem  likely  to  be  of  much 
use  to  any  one  but  himself. 

Lord  Meadshire  occasionally  sang  a  line  or  two  of  a 
hymn  or  a  psalm,  but  spent  most  of  his  time  looking  about 
him.  Alfred  thought  that  his  presence  in  church  might 
have  been  dictated  by  his  wish  to  "  set  an  example,"  and 
smiled  as  the  thought  occurred  to  him.  But  as  a  matter 
of  fact  he  had  come  very  seldom  to  church  when  he  had 
owned  Kemsale,  and  if  his  retention  of  rights  in  the 
Meadshire  pew  should  depend  upon  his  occupying  it  regu- 
larly, was  unlikely  to  persist  in  the  struggle. 

The  attitude  of  Lady  Grace  was  different.  She  was 
devout  and  collected,  and  never  once,  when  she  was  in 
view  of  the  congregation,  did  she  look  towards  them. 
Alfred  watched  her  with  interest.  Her  profile,  which  was 
all  he  saw  of  her  face,  did  not  attract  his  artistic  sense. 
It  seemed  to  him  indicative  of  long  descent,  with  its  high- 
bridged  nose  and  arched  eyebrows,  and  he  wondered  idly 
why  no  such  facial  signs  showed  themselves  in  her  brother, 
whose  appearance  would  have  led  no  one  to  guess  the 
fact  of  his  birth.  But  the  aristocratic  type — if  there  really 
is  such  a  thing — is  not  beautiful  in  itself,  and  Grace  was 
already  past  her  first  youth.  Alfred,  whose  own  youth 
was  strong  in  him,  regarded  her  almost  as  elderly. 

And  yet  she  attracted  him.  Her  expression  had  sweet- 
ness, subdued  as  it  was.  It  seemed  to  have  sadness  too. 


142  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

He  felt  a  quick  sympathy  with  her.  She  was  "  getting 
on."  She  would  probably  not  marry.  If  the  immensities 
of  Kemsale  had  been  her  native  air,  as  they  never  could 
be  that  of  those  who  were  to  take  her  place,  and  if  she 
could  not  now  look  forward  to  breathing  it  elsewhere, 
then  she  was  to  be  pitied,  as  her  brother  was  not.  And 
if  she  cherished  a  grudge  against  those  who  had  dispos- 
sessed her,  she  might  be  forgiven  for  it. 

But  as  he  observed  her,  it  came  into  his  mind  that  she, 
at  least,  bore  no  grudge.  Her  meek  downcast  eyes  were 
not  those  of  a  woman  who  hugs  a  grievance.  And  if  it 
was  the  case  that  her  brother  had  marched  up  to  that 
chancel  pew  with  the  idea  of  pushing  a  claim,  the  look 
of  her  as  she  had  followed  him  seemed  to  show  that  she 
had  not  done  so  in  his  spirit  of  aggression.  Alfred's  mind 
lightened  as  he  eliminated  her  from  the  list  of  those  who 
had  already  made  up  their  minds  to  dislike  him  and  his. 
Perhaps  they  would  be  friends  some  day.  It  seemed 
absurd  that  they  shouldn't  be,  living  so  close  together,  in 
a  place  where  they  would  be  obliged  to  meet  now  'and 
then.  Kemsale  had  been  rudely  disrupted,  and  was  being 
reconstituted  in  a  fashion  that  would  give  it  an  altogether 
new  character.  But  it  was  its  old  character  that  was 
beginning  to  make  itself  felt  with  Alfred,  to  the  extent 
at  least  that,  having  come  down  for  the  shortest  possible 
visit,  he  was  now  inclined  to  throw  out  roots,  as  he  had 
never  before  done  in  any  place  in  which  he  had  lived. 
And  so  much  of  Kemsale's  old  character  was  connected 
in  his  mind  with  this  gentle  lady,  who  had  hitherto  lived 
all  her  life  in  it.  Yes,  decidedly  they  would  make  friends, 
if  it  were  in  any  way  possible. 

The  service  came  to  an  end,  and  the  congregation  filed 
out,  ready  for  the  next  process  that  marked  the  day  for 
what  it  was.  This  was,  immediately,  greeting  of  friends 


THE  CHANCEL  PEW  143 

and  acquaintances  in  the  precincts  of  the  church,  and 
walking  away  in  conversation.  Alfred  manoeuvred  so  as 
to  emerge  from  the  sphere  of  silence  with  the  Irvings,  and 
not  with  the  Fullers.  In  the  porch  Beatrix  asked  him  to 
lunch  with  them. 

"  Bless  you  for  being  so  prompt,"  he  said.  "  I  will 
come  with  the  greatest  of  pleasure." 

Mrs.  Fuller  almost  pushed  her  way  out.  "  Oh,  how  do 
you  do,  Mr.  Alfred?  "  she  said  in  a  voice  that  carried,  and 
was  intended  to  do  so.  "  You  are  coming  to  lunch  with 
us,  aren't  you?  You  mustn't  be  left  to  mope  by  yourself 
on  Sunday." 

Alfred  regretted  the  impossibility,  and  she  was  going 
on  to  ask  him  to  supper,  but  broke  off  to  say:  "Oh,  I 
want  to  introduce  you  to  Lord  Meadshire  and  Lady  Grace. 
Do  just  wait  a  moment.  They  will  be  out  directly." 

She  made  a  motion  almost  as  if  she  would  have  laid 
hands  on  him ;  but  he  pretended  not  to  hear  her,  raised  his 
hat  and  walked  on  with  the  Irvings. 

She  came  after  him,  and  renewed  her  request.  She 
could  not  bear  to  be  deprived  of  the  exiguous  triumph  of 
bringing  the  old  and  the  new  together  publicly.  It  was 
awkward,  because  they  were  in  a  stream  of  people.  But 
by  the  lych  gate  it  had  thinned  enough  for  Alfred  to  be 
able  to  say  without  being  overheard:  "  I'd  really  rather 
not,  Mrs.  Fuller,  thank  you  all  the  same." 

He  could  not  altogether  keep  the  annoyance  out  of  his 
voice;  but  she  was  too  eager  in  her  desire  to  keep  him 
to  notice  it.  "  Oh,  don't  be  shy,"  she  rallied  him.  "  They 
won't  bite  you." 

Now  he  was  angry.  "  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  they 
want  to  know  me,"  he  said.  "  Mr.  Compton  evidently 
didn't."  Then  he  left  her,  and  joined  the  Irvings. 

The    stream    of   people   had   now    left   the    churchyard. 


144  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

Irene,  quite  indifferent  to  her  mother's  desires,  was  waiting 
for  her,  reading  the  inscriptions  on  the  tombstones  that 
came  within  her  view.  Herbert  Fuller,  who  was  church- 
warden, had  not  come  out  yet.  But  as  Mrs.  Fuller  joined 
her  daughter,  Meadshire  and  Grace  appeared  under  the 
porch. 

She  greeted  them  with  a  warmth  that  was  met  by  Grace 
with  politeness,  by  Meadshire  with  joviality.  He  found 
material  for  constant  amusement  in  "  Tottie "  and  her 
ways.  "  How  are  you,  Mrs.  Fuller,  how  are  you  ?  "  he 
inquired,  wringing  her  hand.  "  Aren't  you  going  to  say 
'  How  do  you  do/  Irene?  By  Jove,  you  look  more  fetch- 
ing than  ever.  You've  been  buying  clothes,  both  of  you. 
I  know  you  have." 

Irene  allowed  herself  to  smile,  though  she  was  not 
amused.  There  had  been  a  time  when  a  higher  alliance 
even  than  that  with  the  Rector  had  seemed  to  be  indi- 
cated for  her.  But,  misunderstanding  so  many  things, 
Mrs.  Fuller  had  never  really  misunderstood  Meadshire's 
attitude  towards  herself  and  her  daughter.  Bright  visions, 
half-formed,  had  to  be  given  up.  He  was  not  serious. 
Besides,  he  was  too  old.  and  "  unsteady "  besides.  It 
would  never  have  done.  She  had  spoken  of  it  regretfully, 
to  people  at  a  safe  distance  from  Kemsale.  He  had  seemed 
to  be  attracted,  but  she  had  felt  obliged  to  put  a  stop  to 
it.  He  had  taken  it  well  upon  the  whole,  and  they  had 
remained  friends.  Irene,  fortunately,  had  not  suffered ; 
she  had  not  cared  for  him  "  in  that  way,"  although,  of 
course,  they  had  been  great  friends  ever  since  she  had 
been  a  little  girl.  Her  heart,  she  thought,  was  engaged 
elsewhere,  and  in  a  quarter  which  promised  a  far  more 
satisfactory  development;  she  could  not  say  anything  more 
about  that  at  present,  but  if  it  "  came  off,"  it  would  be  all 
that  could  be  wished. 


THE  CHANCEL  PEW  145 

"  Oh,  Lord  Meadshire,"  she  said.  "  I  did  want  to  intro- 
duce you  to  young  Alfred  Brown,  who  is  here  for  a  few 
days.  He  is  such  a  nice  young  fellow.  We  have  been 
seeing  a  great  deal  of  him." 

Meadshire  dropped  his  chaffing  manner.  "  Thank  you, 
Mrs.  Fuller,"  he  said,  frowning,  "  I  don't  want  to  be 
introduced  to  young  Alfred  Brown.  If  you  had  done  so, 
I  should  have  told  him  so." 

The  Rector  and  Herbert  Fuller  came  out  of  the  church. 
"  Oh,  but  I'm  sure  you  would  like  him,"  she  pleaded.  "  He 
really  isn't  half  bad;  quite  a  gentleman,  which  you  might 
not  have  expected.  Oh,  Mr.  Compton,  good-morning.  We 
were  just  talking  of  young  Alfred  Brown.  You  were  really 
rather  rude  to  him  the  other  day,  you  know.  But  I  sup- 
pose you  were  too  much  taken  up  with  your  deep  thoughts. 
Shall  you  call  on  him?  I  think  he  expects  it,  you  know." 

"  I've  no  intention  of  calling  on  him,"  said  Compton, 
and  went  off  along  the  path  that  led  to  the  rectory.  Mead- 
shire  and  Grace  were  already  at  the  lych  gate,  where  a 
powerful  car  was  waiting  for  them.  Meadshire  never 
walked  if  he  could  help  it,  or  had  himself  carried  any- 
where under  about  forty  horse-power. 

"  Well,  really,  people  don't  seem  very  agreeable  this 
morning,"  said  Mrs.  Fuller.  "  Any  one  would  think  they 
hadn't  been  to  church  at  all.  Irene,  did  you  see  those 
chorus  girls  with  old  Mother  Merriman?  I  could  hardly 
take  my  eyes  off  them.  I  call  it  a  disgrace  bringing  peo- 
ple like  that  into  a  church.  Well,  I've  done  my  best 
to  bring  people  together.  What's  up  with  them,  Herbert? 
Aren't  they  going  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
Browns  ?  " 

Herbert  could  not  inform  her.  He  looked  worried. 
The  almost  forcible  occupation  of  the  chancel  pew  boded 
trouble,  in  which  he  would  probably  be  involved.  She 


146  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

had  not  apparently  noticed  it,  and  he  said  nothing  about 
it  to  her. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  it  much  matters,"  she  said, 
after  a  pause  of  consideration.  "  The  Browns  are  our 
friends,  anyhow;  and  the  others  don't  amount  to  much 
now — except  for  their  titles." 


CHAPTER  XII 

MOEE  GARDEN   NOTES 

WITH  great  manipulation  of  cartridge  paper,  compasses, 
T-square,  and  water  colours,  the  great  plan  for  the  formal 
garden  had  been  finished.  The  Irvings  had  expressed 
warm  interest  in  the  project.  Formal  design  had  not 
come  within  their  scope,  but  planting  of  all  sorts  had; 
perhaps  their  experience  would  be  of  value.  They  were 
invited  to  come  round  by  Kemsale  on  their  way  home  from 
church,  and  examine  the  result  of  much  planning. 

They  walked  through  the  ground-floor  rooms  before 
descending  to  Alfred's  appointed  retreat.  Decoration  had 
already  been  set  in  hand  here,  at  the  same  time  as  struc- 
tural alterations  were  going  on  elsewhere.  The  blue  saloon, 
pink  saloon,  and  yellow  saloon  were  already  nearing  com- 
pletion. Alfred  said  nothing  as  he  piloted  them  through 
the  echoing  spaces.  And  neither  Beatrix  nor  Douglas  said 
anything,  although  they  would  willingly  have  made  com- 
ment if  they  could  have  found  anything  appreciative  to  say. 

It  was  left  to  Woozle  to  express  an  opinion,  which  she 
did  in  the  following  concise  phrase:  "  I  think  it-th  puf- 
fickly  beathly." 

All  three  of  them  looked  at  one  another,  Douglas  and 
Beatrix  with  a  quick  deprecatory  glance  at  Alfred,  before 
falling  upon  Woozle  to  rend  her,  Alfred  with  his  head  on 
one  side,  inquiringly.  Woozle  escaped  the  rending.  All 
three  of  them  burst  into  laughter,  and  laughed  for  a  long 
time. 

147 


148  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  Nothing  more  need  be  said.  Now  we'll  go  downstairs 
and  look  at  my  plan,"  said  Alfred. 

The  plan  proved  to  be  of  such  interest  that  they  decided 
to  take  it  on  to  Little  Kemsale  to  study  more  at  their 
leisure.  On  the  way  there  they  looked  at  the  carpet  garden, 
soon  to  be  dispossessed.  "  If  you  like  to  say  that  this 
is  '  puffickly  beathly,'  "  said  Alfred  to  Woozle,  "  I  shan't 
blame  you." 

But  Woozle  said  she  had  liked  it  when  all  the  flowers 
were  there,  and  Jimbo  put  in  a  sudden  claim  to  having 
once  walked  over  one  of  the  beds,  to  see  if  it  was  really 
like  a  carpet. 

"  He  did,  the  bad  wicked  man,"  said  Beatrix.  "  We 
had  to  tell  Mackenzie,  the  head  gardener,  and  he  was 
very  angry  with  us,  wasn't  he,  Jimbo  ?  " 

"  So  was  you,"  said  Jimbo,  quick  to  see  the  change  of 
attitude.  "  But  you're  not  angry  now." 

She  embraced  him.  "  You'll  ruin  that  child,"  said  Doug- 
las, as  he  took  advantage  of  her  example  to  embrace  the 
too-entrancing  Woozle. 

"  I  think  Mackenzie  will  be  angry  with  me  when  he's 
told  what  is  going  to  be  done,"  said  Alfred.  "  It  will  be 
broken  to  him  to-morrow  morning." 

"  That's  a  gentleman  you've  got  to  keep  under  your 
thumb,"  said  Douglas,  "  unless  you  want  to  live  all  your 
life  under  his.  Poor  Grace  Ettien  did.  She  had  to  fight 
for  everything  she  wanted  to  do.  Let's  go  through  the 
lower  garden.  It's  only  a  little  way  further.  She  did 
some  jolly  things  there;  but  everything  she  planted  had 
to  be  got  through  him — for  the  sake  of  his  commission,  I 
suppose — and  even  then  she  had  to  keep  a  sharp  look- 
oat  that  he  got  the  right  things,  and  planted  them 
right." 

They  went  down  through  the  lower  terraces  and  slopes, 


MORE  GARDEN  NOTES  149 

charmingly  arranged  to  afford  mild  surprises,  sun  here 
and  shade  there,  vistas  and  glimpses,  beauty  of  flower  and 
foliage,  green  spaces,  and  above  all  that  sense  of  peace 
and  seclusion  which  a  well-planned  English  garden  should 
always  offer,  even  when  all  its  trees  are  bare. 

"  Dear  Grace !  "  said  Beatrix  regretfully.  "  Her  garden 
is  like  her,  sweet  and  gentle." 

The  speech  pleased  Alfred.  "  I  think  it's  the  best  thing 
here,"  he  said.  "  I  hope  mine  will  be  half  as  success- 
ful." 

A  few  late  roses  were  still  blooming.  The  pomp  of  crim- 
son and  bright  pink  was  over;  these  were  faint  in  colour 
and  delicate  in  scent.  Alfred  cut  half  a  dozen  of  them 
for  Beatrix — all  the  perfect  ones  that  the  bushes  could 
show.  They,  also,  seemed  rather  like  the  quiet  gentle  lady 
whom  he  had  just  seen  at  her  devotions.  These  lower 
gardens  were  another  part  of  Kemsale  that  kept  their 
flavour  amidst  all  the  ruthless  change,  and  should  keep 
it  still,  if  he  had  his  will.  His  own  changes,  he  prided 
himself,  would  have  the  effect  of  building  up  on  the  basis 
of  the  old,  which  was  beginning  to  appear  to  him  such  a 
priceless  though  easily  dispersed  treasure. 

What  he  felt  about  it  all  was  expressed  both  by  Douglas 
and  Beatrix. 

"You  know,  in  a  way,"  said  Douglas,  with  a  laugh, 
"  the  carpet  garden  seems  more  in  keeping  with  what's 
being  done  in  the  house  than  all  this  does." 

"  Grace  always  hated  the  carpet  garden,"  said  Beatrix. 
"  She  would  be  very  interested  in  your  plans.  I  wish  we 
could  get  her  to  see  them." 

"Isn't  Auntie  Grace  coming  to  tea  this  afternoon?" 
asked  Woozle,  with  her  toothless  lisp.  "  She  gen'ly  does 
on  Sundays." 

"  I  expect  she  will,"  said  her  mother.     She  did  not  say 


150  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

anything  further,  having  observed  the  little  comedy  in 
the  churchyard. 

There  was  still  time  to  go  round  the  garden  at  Little 
Kemsale  before  luncheon.  Alfred,  who  would  hitherto 
have  considered  that  a  garden,  at  a  time  of  year  when 
nearly  all  its  flowers  were  over,  could  have  no  interest 
for  anybody,  was  beginning  to  have  a  dim  idea  of  the 
absorbing  interest  of  the  autumn  and  winter  planning  and 
preparation.  "  I  believe  I  shall  take  to  this,"  he  said. 
"  But  there  seems  to  be  a  terrific  lot  to  learn.  Tell  me 
candidly  now  how  far  my  ignorance  has  affected  the  plan 
I've  made." 

"  We'll  go  all  through  it  this  afternoon,"  said  Beatrix. 

Douglas  was  more  direct.  "  The  plan's  all  right  as  far 
as  it  goes,"  he  said.  "  But  it's  only  half  done.  I  suppose 
you'll  hand  it  over  to  Mackenzie  to  carry  out.  Well,  he'll 
get  the  yews  planted,  the  beds  dug,  and  all  that;  but 
what  are  you  going  to  put  into  them?  If  you  leave  it  to 
him  it  will  be  the  carpet  garden  over  again,  which  will  be 
'  puffickly  beathly.'  " 

The  plan  had  simplified  itself  to  broad  alleys  and  arcad- 
ings  of  yew,  with  wide  spaces  of  lawn,  and  here  and  there 
box-edged  beds  and  borders.  There  was  to  be  a  stone- 
edged  lily  tank  in  the  wide  central  space,  and  a  fountain 
jet  at  each  end  of  the  main  transverse  alley.  When  Alfred 
had  written  to  his  mother — whose  reply  was  to  be  expected 
the  next  morning — he  had  had  in  his  mind  a  more  elab- 
orate framework  to  his  garden,  with  higher  boundary 
walls,  wrought-iron  gates  above  and  below,  and  at  each 
corner  little  Renaissance  pavilions,  with  flagged  patch  con- 
necting them.  But  as  he  had  worked  out  this  idea  through- 
out the  whole  of  a  long  evening,  he  had  found  himself 
losing  his  zest  for  it.  It  would  be  very  expensive.  He 
had  little  doubt  about  being  authorized,  and  even  encour- 


MORE  GARDEN  NOTES  151 

aged,  to  spend  as  much  as  he  wanted  to  spend  over  it. 
It  was  not  that  that  damped  his  ardour.  It  was  his  own 
protest  against  depending  upon  the  lavish  use  of  money 
to  bring  happiness  and  interest  in  life  that  was  rising  in 
him.  He  had  never  done  it  before.  He  had  been  sur- 
rounded by  wealth  all  his  life,  and  had  instinctively  re- 
coiled from  it  as  a  danger  to  true  contentment.  He  had 
always  been  happy,  except  when  he  had  been  sitting  at  his 
desk  in  his  father's  office.  He  had  had  a  few  qualms  occa- 
sionally as  to  whether  he  had  a  right  to  make  himself  so 
happy,  since  he  was  doing  nothing,  or  very  little,  that 
would  lead  him  anywhere.  His  father's  character  lived 
in  him  to  that  extent.  But  such  doubts  had  troubled  him 
little  as  long  as  he  was  not  resting  himself  upon  the  golden 
pinnacle  that  was  there  for  him  if  he  wished  to  occupy  it. 
If  he  were  to  leave  his  simple,  inexpensive  way  of  life, 
and  begin  to  think  about  what  pleasures  he  could  obtain 
by  the  spending  of  money,  his  contentment  would  vanish. 
He  felt  it,  though  he  did  not  analyse  his  feeling.  Not  to 
spend  more  money  than  he  could  help,  not  to  think  about 
money  at  all,  was  his  way  of  keeping  himself  unspotted 
from  the  world. 

Directly  he  threw  over  his  elaborate  plan,  his  pleasure 
in  designing  his  garden  returned.  The  other  would  have 
been  interesting,  and,  in  comparison  with  what  was  now 
being  done  at  Kemsale,  and  even  with  what  had  been 
done  in  the  past  in  the  way  of  expensive  improvements, 
its  cost  would  have  been  negligible.  But,  somehow,  it 
was  not  for  him  to  set  it  in  hand.  And  Lady  Grace's 
garden,  as  he  liked  to  call  the  lower  slopes,  had  shown 
him  that  it  was  not  necessary  to  spend  large  sums  of 
money  in  order  to  get  gracious  and  charming  effects. 
Great  skill  was  necessary,  as  he  was  beginning  to  see,  but 
he  thought  it  would  not  be  beyond  him  to  gain  that  skill; 


152  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

he  had  already  gained  a.  good  deal  by  his  studies.  At  least 
let  the  skill  come  first,  and  let  not  ignorance  be  plastered 
over  by  great  spending. 

He  was  a  trifle  dashed  when  Douglas,  with  the  plan 
spread  out  before  him,  and  all  three  of  them  ready  to  give 
it  their  undivided  attention,  said:  "Of  course,  you  know, 
this  is  going  to  cost  an  awful  lot." 

"  But  I've  kept  it  very  simple/'  Alfred  expostulated. 
"  They'll  have  to  lay  water  on  for  the  fountains,  but  bar 
that  and  the  bit  of  stonework,  it's  nearly  all  of  it  yew." 

"  Yes,  but  it  will  take  thousands  of  yews,  and  you'll 
want  them  a  good  size,  I  suppose.  You  won't  want  to  wait 
twenty  years  before  you  get  any  sort  of  effect." 

"  That's  where  I'm  ignorant,"  said  Alfred.  "  But  if 
that's  all,  I  don't  think  it  matters." 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  Douglas,  "  then  if  I  were  you  I  should 
get  trees  as  big  as  possible.  If  they  are  carefully  looked 
after  when  they  are  planted  they'll  come  together  in  a 
couple  of  years,  and  you'll  get  your  effect  almost  from 
the  first." 

He  had  given  his  warning,  and  was  relieved  of  responsi- 
bility. He  had  not  really  supposed  that  cost  would  mat- 
ter, and  meant  to  recommend  the  planting  of  well-grown 
trees  that  would  cost  at  least  ten  shillings  apiece,  even  if 
bought  in  thousands.  It  would  be  jolly  to  take  a  hand 
in  an  affair  of  that  magnitude,  and  he  was  inclined  to 
envy  one  who  could  garden  on  a  scale  so  much  larger  than 
was  permitted  to  himself. 

Alfred  was  relieved  too.  The  actual  cost  of  the  garden 
was  not  the  question  with  him.  There  was  no  such  thing 
as  actual  cost  in  such  matters  as  this,  so  far  as  his  father 
was  concerned;  would  not  have  been  even  if  he  had 
kept  to  his  more  expensive  design.  Armitage  Brown  would 
have  paid  the  bill  for  either  without  thinking  about  it. 


MORE  GARDEN  NOTES  153 

It  was  the  difference  between  spending  money  on  dead 
stone  and  brick  and  mortar,  and  spending  it  on  living 
growth  that  seemed  to  matter.  He  would  be  prepared  to 
order  yews  of  the  largest  size  that  could  be  transplanted, 
and  as  many  of  them  as  was  necessary.  That  was  ordinary 
gardening  as  he  envisaged  it.  That  it  was  gardening  with 
a  golden  spade  in  Douglas's  eyes  would  have  troubled  him 
but  a  little  if  he  had  known  it.  His  own  secret  protest  had 
been  obeyed.  He  was  gaining  his  pleasure  from  the  sim- 
pler of  two  ways. 

The  colloquy  was  long  and  interesting;  catalogues  were 
produced,  lists  made,  sheets  of  notes  scribbled.  Alfred 
began  to  regard  a  nurseryman's  catalogue  with  new  eyes. 

"  I  shan't  be  able  to  do  this  myself,  you  know,"  he 
said.  "  You'll  have  to  help  me." 

This  was  what  Douglas  wanted.  He  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  and  played  with  his  pencil.  "  Well,  I'll  tell  you," 
he  said  judicial!}-.  "  If  Mackenzie  were  the  right  sort  of 
gardener,  you  wouldn't  want  much  help,  when  you'd  de- 
cided what  things  to  get,  and  where  to  put  them.  But 
you'll  have  him  against  you  all  the  time,  and  the  fact  of 
the  matter  is  you  don't  know  enough  yet  to  see  that  he 
does  what  lie's  told.  Besides,  this  is  going  to  take  all  win- 
ter, and  I  suppose  you  won't  be  here  all  the  time." 

"  No,"  said  Alfred.     "  I  wish  you'd  overlook  it  for  me." 

"  I  will  with  the  greatest  of  pleasure,"  said  Douglas. 
"  Beatrix  and  I  both  will.  She's  jolly  good  at  colour.  We 
shall  enjoy  it  awfully.  But  you'll  have  to  put  us  right 
with  Mackenzie.  He'll  have  to  get  the  actual  work  done, 
or  let  us  have  men  to  do  it.  He'll  be  furiously  up  against 
us,  of  course;  but  I  shan't  mind  that  if  I've  got  undoubted 
authority." 

"  Come  up  to-morrow  morning,"  said  Alfred,  "  and  we'll 
initiate  Mr.  Mackenzie  into  his  new  duties.  You  won't 


154  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

have  any  trouble  with  him.  He's  going  to  do  what  he's 
told,  though  he  doesn't  know  it  yet." 

They  had  been  talking  and  planning  for  an  hour.  It 
was  now  past  three  o'clock.  There  came  a  slight  pause, 
and  Alfred  suddenly  remembered  that  Lady  Grace  was 
probably  coming  to  tea.  His  heart  beat  a  trifle  faster  at 
the  thought.  He  wanted  to  see  how  she  looked  and  spoke. 
But  Beatrix  had  not  asked  him  to  stay  to  see  her.  He 
supposed  he  had  better  be  going. 

He  was  just  rising  to  take  his  leave  when  the  throb  of 
a  motor  was  heard  outside.  "  That  must  be  Meadshire/' 
said  Douglas. 

"  Well,  I  think  I  must  be  going,"  said  Alfred.  "  I'll 
take  the  plans  and  the  catalogues.  It  will  amuse  me  to 
work  it  out  more  in  detail,  as  we've  arranged  it.  And 
you'll  both  come  up  about  ten  to-morrow  morning." 

The  door  opened  and  Meadshire  came  suddenly  into 
the  room.  "  Excuse  me  for  walking  in,"  he  said  jovially, 
and  then  he  saw  Alfred  and  his  face  dropped. 

"Good-bye,  then;  to-morrow  at  ten."  Alfred  was  out 
of  the  room  before  any  one  ha"d  time  to  speak.  He  took 
up  his  hat  and  went  out  at  the  hall  door.  Meadshire's 
powerful  car  was  gently  simmering  outside,  and  Grace 
was  sitting  in  the  front  seat  alone.  Their  eyes  met  as  he 
passed,  and  he  dropped  his  with  a  blush  as  he  fumbled 
at  his  hat-brim.  He  thought  to  himself  as  he  went  down 
the  drive  that  he  must  have  appeared  in  an  odd  light  to  her, 
but  hoped  she  had  not  misunderstood  his  nervousness,  if 
she  had  noticed  it. 

"  Oh,  you've  had  that  young  man  here,"  said  Meadshire, 
when  the  door  had  closed  behind  Alfred.  "  He  seemed  to 
be  in  rather  a  hurry." 

"  I  suppose  he  didn't  want  to  meet  you,"  said  Douglas. 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  meet  him,"  said  Meadshire.     "  So 


MORE  GARDEN  NOTES  155 

we're  both  suited.  Look  here,  Grace  wants  you  both  to 
come  up  and  see  the  garden.  Bring  the  kiddies  up  too;  I 
know  you  can't  bear  to  be  parted  from  them." 

Beatrix  went  upstairs.  "  I  say,  Meadshire,"  said  Doug- 
las, "  what  have  you  got  against  young  Brown?  He's ' 

"  I've  nothing  against  young  Brown,"  interrupted  Mead- 
shire,  "  except  that  he's  the  son  of  old  Brown.  And  I'm 
not  going  to  have  anything  to  do  with  any  Browns  of  them 
all.  No  more  is  Grace.  We're  going  to  keep  ourselves  to 
ourselves  in  our  quiet  humble  way,  and  they  can  cut  their 
dash  here  for  all  they're  worth.  That's  to  be  the  note, 
Irving,  my  boy.  If  you  want  to  make  friends  of  them, 
do,  by  all  means.  But  don't  follow  Tottie's  example,  and 
try  to  bring  us  together,  for  it  won't  work." 

"  It'll  be  jolly  awkward,"  grumbled  Douglas.  "  How 
can  you  help  meeting  them  sometimes?  If  you  come  here 
when  this  chap  happens  to  be  here,  what  are  you  going 
to  do?  Are  you  going  to  be  rude  to  him?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no;  that  »isn't  my  way.  I'm  one  of  the 
politest  fellows  that  ever  lived.  When  I  do  meet  him  I 
shall  be  quite  affable,  though  possibly  with  a  shade  of 
distance." 

"  But  I  suppose  you'll  cut  him  when  you  meet  him  again, 
if  it's  out  of  doors." 

"  I  shan't  do  that  either.  You  don't  know  me,  Irving. 
That's  what  I  complain  of.  It  would  be  making  too  much 
of  him,  for  one  thing.  I  shall  nod  affably.  If  I  happen 
to  be  in  a  particularly  affusive  mood,  as  I  sometimes  am, 
I  shall  even  remark  that  it's  a  fine  day — always  supposing 
that  it  really  is  fine.  I  shouldn't  tell  a  lie  even  for  the 
sake  of  young  Mr.  Brown." 

"  Well  Compton  was  pretty  rude  to  him  the  other  day." 

"  Ah,  that's  different.  Jim  Compton  hates  a  fellow  with 
a  fair  moustache.  Besides,  he's  a  disagreeable  fellow  him- 


156  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

self;  he's  made  himself  devilish  disagreeable  to  me  lately. 
If  he  doesn't  look  out  I  shall  leave  off  going  to  church." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  if  you  have  made  up  your  mind  not 
to  make  friends  with  these  people,  you've  a  right  not  to. 
I'm  hanged  if  I  think  Compton  has.  They've  done  him  no 
harm — you  either,  for  that  matter — and  the  parson  of  a 
place  ought  to  be  on  good  terms  with  his  parishioners." 

"  I'm  inclined  to  agree  with  you,  Irving.  If  Jim  makes 
himself  unpleasant  to  them,  you  let  me  know.  I'll  talk 
to  him.  Ah,  here  you  are,  all  of  you.  Come  along  or  we 
shall  lose  the  daylight." 

Alfred  had  Mackenzie  summoned  to  his  presence  im- 
mediately after  breakfast  the  next  morning.  Mackenzie 
arrived  in  his  most  aggressive  mood.  He  had  received  a 
letter  that  morning  from  Berkeley  Square  with  further 
instructions  as  to  sending  flowers  and  fruit.  "  Mrs. 
Armitage  Brown  wishes,"  it  had  begun,  and  he  had  taken 
it  to  have  been  written  by  that  lady  herself.  He  could 
hardly  have  expected  that  it  should  contain  a  reference  to 
his  own  complaint.  The  fact  of  its  being  written  at  all 
seemed  to  show  that  she  had  "  knuckled  under."  Very  likely 
she  had  written  to  Mr.  Alfred  with  instructions  that  so  valu- 
able a  servant  must  have  his  own  way,  which  did  not  in  the 
least  soften  him  to  either  of  them,  as  such  characters  as 
his  can  only  use  a  concession  to  demand  more.  Perhaps 
the  young  gentleman  had  sent  for  him  in  order  to  climb 
down.  If  so,  he  would  not  make  it  easy  for  him.  He 
would  use  the  opportunity  to  push  his  advantage,  and 
"  show  who  was  master." 

"  Good-morning,  Mackenzie,"  said  Alfred  cheerfully. 
"  I've  been  employing  myself  the  last  few  days  in  making 
a  plan  for  the  carpet  garden.  I've  sent  for  you  to  show 
it  to  you,  and  see  how  we  can  best  set  about  it." 

The    plan   was    spread    out   on    the    table.      Mackenzie 


MORE  GARDEN  NOTES  157 

hardly  deigned  to  glance  at  it.  "  The  plan  for  the  carpet 
garden  is  already  prepared,"  he  said.  "  It'll  be  what  it's 
always  been  for  the  spring  planting.  I  should  have  set 
it  in  hand  last  month,  if  I  hadn't  been  three  men  short. 
I  shall  begin  planting  this  week." 

Alfted  took  his  stand  in  front  of  the  fire.  "  I  don't 
think  you  quite  understand  me,"  he  said.  "  There's  not 
going  to  be  any  more  carpet  garden.  It's  going  to  be 
done  away  with.  The  space  is  to  be  planted  afresh, 
chiefly  with  yews,  according  to  a  plan  I've  prepared." 

"  Do  away  with  the  carpet  garden !  "  exclaimed  Mac- 
kenzie. "  Why,  it's  been  a  thing  people  have  come  miles 
to  see,  and  I've  got  prize  after  prize  for  it.  There's  not 
a  finer  one  to  be  seen  in  the  whole  of  England." 

"  Well,  you  see,  it  won't  amuse  us  particularly  to  see 
you  getting  prizes;  you  can  get  them  for  something  else. 
Anyhow,  the  carpet  garden  is  going.  That  has  been  de- 
cided on,  and " 

"And  may  I  ask,  sir,  who  has  decided  on  it?  Am  I 
to  take  my  orders  from  you,  or  from  Mrs.  Brown?  I 
just  as1:,  because  I  want  to  know  exactly  where  I  stand. 
If  I'm  to  do  my  work  here  to  satisfaction,  I'm  not  going 
to  be  interfered  with  at  every  turn,  and  I'll  say  so  at 
once  to  save  further  trouble.  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  make 
a  complaint  of  the  way  you  interfered  with  me  the  other 
day,  and  I've  had  a  letter  this  morning  from  Mrs.  Brown 
giving  me  instructions  to  go  on  as  I've  been  accustomed 
to.  I  know  well  what's  expected  of  me,  and " 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  Alfred.  "  What  did  you  say  you 
had  heard  from  Mrs.  Brown?" 

"  I  had  my  instructions,  following  on  the  letter  I  wrote, 
making  complaint  of  you  interfering  with  me  in  a  way 
I  won't  be  interfered  with  if  I'm  to  stay  here  and  give 
satisfaction.  I'm  not  going  to  serve  two  masters,  and  that 


158  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

I  tell  you  straight,  young  gentleman.  I  make  no  doubt 
that  Mrs.  Brown  understands  me  very  well,  or  she  wouldn't 
have  written  as  she  did.  I  dare  say,  if  the  truth  were 
known,  you've  had  a  letter  from  her  yourself." 

"  Have  you  seen  Captain  Fuller  this  morning?  "  asked 
Alfred. 

Mackenzie,  who  had  worked  himself  into  a  cold  ugly 
passion,  was  arrested  by  something  in  his  tone. 

Alfred  took  a  letter  from  the  mantelpiece.  "  I  did  hear 
from  my  mother  this  morning,"  he  said.  "  I  wrote  to  her 
about  this  plan  I've  been  making.  She  doesn't  mention 
you  till  the  end  of  the  letter.  Perhaps  you  would  like 
to  see  what  she  says." 

He  handed  him  the  sheet.  Mackenzie  took  it  and  rend 
it.  It  deprived  him  of  all  speech.  He  could  only  look 
up  from  it  and  roll  his  eyes,  and  look  back  again. 

"  It's  time  we  understood  one  another,"  said  Alfred. 
"  You've  miscalculated  the  situation  altogether,  you  see. 
I'm  not  inclined  to  stand  too  much  on  my  dignity,  but 
really,  you  know,  it  was  a  precious  piece  of  impertinence 
your  writing  to  complain  of  me  to  Mrs.  Brown.  You  see 
what  she  thinks  of  it;  and  I  don't  see  how  you  can  have 
expected  her  to  treat  your  complaint  in  any  other  way." 

Mackenzie  had  somewhat  recovered  himself.  His  ag- 
gressiveness had  disappeared.  It  was  of  the  sort  that 
flourishes  vigorously  until  it  is  met  by  its  like  and  then 
wilts  away.  "  I  never  expected  to  be  dismissed  for  trying 
to  do  my  duty,"  he  said.  "  I  think  you  might  have  given 
me  credit  for  that,  sir.  I  don't  believe  there's  a  head- 
gardener  in  the  country  who  has  kept  up  the  show  that  I 
have  here." 

"  I've  had  nothing  to  do  with  your  getting  turned  off 
— so  far,"  said  Alfred.  "  I  told  my  mother  that  I  thought 
you'd  do  very  well,  if  you  could  bring  yourself  to  take 


MORE  GARDEN  NOTES  150 

orders,  instead  of  expecting  to  give  them.  At  least,  I 
didn't  put  it  quite  like  that,  but  that's  what  it  comes  to. 
What  she  has  written  to  Captain  Fuller  is  the  result  of 
your  own  letter,  which  I  warned  you  against  writing,  if 
you  remember.  The  question  is,  are  you  prepared  to  take 
orders?  " 

Mackenzie  saw  a  gleam  of  light.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  his  prospective  dismissal.  He  had  read  the  con- 
temptuous reply  to  his  ill-advised  complaint  with  his  own 
eyes,  and  had  seen  at  the  same  time  that  it  was  in  a 
different  hand  from  that  of  the  letter  he  had  received 
himself.  The  lady  had  not  been  so  much  impressed  by 
him  as  he  had  imagined.  She  had  not,  in  fact,  been  im- 
pressed at  all.  Xo  member  of  the  "  high  nobility  "  could 
have  kicked  him  for  his  impertinence  with  a  loftier  stroke. 
But  perhaps  this  young  man,  who  had,  after  all,  turned 
out  to  be  master,  might  be  worked  upon  to  avert  the  stroke. 
He  seemed  to  have  a  touch  of  softness.  Mackenzie  was 
quite  ready,  immediately,  to  take  his  orders.  He  had  the 
hectorer's  complementary  quality  of  servility.  If  he  could 
not  be  master  himself,  he  would  truckle  to  a  master.  It 
was  only  necessary  that  mastery  should  exist  somewhere, 
instead  of  give  and  take,  which  he  could  not  understand. 

"  The  question  is,"  said  Alfred,  "  are  you  prepared  to 
take  orders?  " 

"  I'm  sure,  sir.  I've  always  done  my  best  to  give  satis- 
faction. I  can  only  say " 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  done  your  best  to  give  satis- 
faction. You  certainly  haven't  given  it  in  the  way  you've 
spoken  to  me.  Look  here,  Mackenzie,  it's  no  good  holding 
out;  you've  got  yourself  into  a  mess.  If  you  go  out  of 
this  room  now,  you'll  get  your  dismissal  directly  Captain 
Fuller  comes  up,  and  you'll  richly  deserve  it.  You  under- 
stand that,  don't  you?" 


160  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  Well,  sir,  I  dare  say  I've  been  a  bit  too  free,  and  I'm 
sure  I'm  sorry  for  it.  I've  always  been  accustomed  to 
have  my  own  way  within  limits,  and  they've  been  under- 
stood by  those  I've  served,  and 

Alfred  made  a  movement  of  impatience.  "  Oh,  if  you're 
going  on  in  that  way,"  he  said,  "  I'll  have  nothing  more 
to  do  with  it.  You  can  go,  and  be  hanged  to  you.  There 
are  dozens  of  men  can  be  got  to  fill  your  place." 

Mackenzie  finally  touched  earth.  "  If  you'll  get  me  kept 
on,  sir,"  he  said,  "  I'll  do  everything  I'm  told,  and  you'll 
never  have  reason  to  complain  of  me  again." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Alfred.  "  On  those  conditions  I'll  get 
you  another  chance — one  more  chance,  mind,  and  only  one. 
This  garden  is  going  to  be  run  for  the  benefit  of  the 
people  who  own  it,  and  as  far  as  I  shall  have  any  concern 
with  it,  I'm  not  going  to  be  bothered  by  having  to  fight 
you  at  every  turn.  Now  I'm  going  to  turn  that  beastly 
carpet  garden  that  you're  so  proud  of  inside  out.  It's 
going  to  be  set  in  hand  now,  and  Captain  Irving  is  going 
to  look  after  the  planting  of  it.  He's  due  up  here  now, 
and  we'd  better  go  out  and  talk  it  over  on  the  spot." 

"  Am  I  to  take  orders  from  Captain  Irving,  sir,  when 
you're  not  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  are,  unless  you'd  prefer  to  take  the  one  you'll 
get  from  Captain  Fuller." 

It  was  a  bitter  pill,  but  Mackenzie  swallowed  it.  "  Very 
good,  sir,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XHI 
THE  VOICE  OF  KENCOTE 

THE  tea  encampment  was  set  in  the  shade  of  the  great 
cedar  on  the  lawn  at  Kencote.  It  was  still  early  in  May, 
but  a  burst1  of  continued  sunshine  had  seemed  so  to  insist 
that  summer  had  already  arrived,  that  the  fact  had  been 
temporarily  accepted.  A  rug  had  been  spread  under  the 
Squire's  chair,  as  a  sop  to  his  fears  of  rheumatism,  but 
the  ground  was  as  dry  and  hard  as  if  the  month  were 
August,  and  the  grass  was  beginning  to  look  parched.  Un- 
grateful mortals  were  already  crying  out  for  rain,  but,  until 
it  should  come,  the  boon  of  spring  sunshine,  hot  days,  and 
delicious  cool  evenings  were  theirs  to  enjoy  in  their  non- 
agricultural  moods. 

The  great  stucco-covered  house  dozed  in  the  afternoon 
sun;  the  trees  in  the  park  cast  their  shadows  across  the 
grass,  and  the  herd  of  Alderneys  stood  in  their  shelter, 
lazily  flicking  the  flies  from  their  creamy  flanks;  bees 
hummed  about  the  spring  flowers  that  seemed  to  show  an 
air  of  surprise  at  finding  themselves  overtaken  by  high 
summer.  There  was  a  large  peace  in  the  garden  at  Kencote, 
which  seemed  to  have  settled  upon  the  group  under  the 
cedar,  for  none  of  them  looked  as  if  they  had  a  care  in 
the  world,  or  had  anything  to  do  but  enjoy  themselves  in 
the  sunshine. 

Nor,  for  the  moment,  had  they ;  but  there  was  not  one 
of  them  that  would  not  have  represented  himself  or  herself 
as  leading  busy  and  useful  lives. 

They  were  a  family  group.  There  were  the  Squire,  who 
had  a  large  landed  estate  to  look  after,  and  his  eldest  son 

161 


162  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

Dick,  who  actually  looked  after  it.  Mrs.  Clinton  had  her 
household,  her  villagers,  and  an  increasing  number  of 
grandchildren  to  interest  her.  Virginia,  Dick's  charming 
and  very  faintly  American  wife,  had  no  children,  but  she 
had  Dick  for  a  career,  and  wanted  no  other.  Cicely 
Graham,  the  Squire's  eldest  daughter,  who  lived  at  Mount- 
field,  four  miles  away,  had  a  family  of  four,  in  the  nursery- 
governess  stage.  She  was  very  pretty  and  young-looking, 
but  matronly  in  her  ways  and  in  her  thoughts.  There  was 
not  so  much  money  at  Mountfield  as  there  was  at  Kencote, 
and  she  had  to  "  manage."  So  had  Jim,  her  husband,  who 
owned  a  house  rather  too  big  for  his  means,  and  both  of 
them  managed  very  well.  Joan,  a  much  younger  daughter, 
was  Countess  of  Inverell,  which  gave  her  enough  to  do 
in  itself.  She  was  a  bright  lovely  creature,  treated  still  as 
a  child  in  her  old  home,  in  spite  of  the  bundle  of  lace 
and  cambric  belonging  to  her  that  slumbered  peacefully  in 
the  shade  of  another  tree  a  little  way  off.  And  finally, 
Frank,  the  youngest  son,  but  some  years  older  than  Joan, 
had  returned  only  that  morning  from  the  other  end  of  the 
world,  in  whose  waters  his  ship  had  been  stationed  for 
the  past  three  years.  It  was  to  welcome  him  home  that 
the  little  party  was  gathered  together — all  of  his  brothers 
and  sisters  who  were  within  reach. 

There  were  three  more  of  them:  Humphrey,  a  widower 
with  no  children,  who  had  been  in  Australia  for  the  last 
four  years  sheep-farming;  Walter,  a  fast-rising  physician 
in  Harley  Street,  who  had  married  Jim  Graham's  sister, 
and  had  six  children ;  and  Nancy,  Joan's  twin  sister,  the 
wife  of  Colonel  Spence,  with  two  bundles  of  lace  and 
cambric  similar  to  Joan's  one.  There  were  thirteen  grand- 
children in  all,  in  whom  ran  the  ancient  vigorous  Clinton 
blood.  They  were  the  source  of  great  pride  to  the  Squire, 
whose  one  cause  of  complaint  against  their  parents  was 


THE  VOICE  OF  KENCOTE  163 

that  he  had  never  seen  them  all  collected  together  at  one 
time  beneath  the  roof  of  Kencote. 

It  all  seemed  a  little  strange  to  Frank,  but  most  delight- 
fully familiar  as  well — the  leisured  gathering  under  the 
cedar,  the  peace,  the  spaciousness,  the  complete  absence 
of  struggle  or  anticipation.  He  was  thirty-one,  already 
making  his  mark  in  his  profession,  and  as  keen  as  possible 
on  its  varied  activities.  But  he  felt  like  a  boy  again, 
coming  back  from  school,  or  from  the  Britannia,  full  of 
pleasure  at  being  at  home  once  more,  where  there  was  never 
any  change,  and  no  change  was  ever  wanted.  Changes 
there  had  been,  later,  with  all  of  them  growing  older,  and 
now  all  but  himself  married;  but  not  in  the  basic  life  of 
Kencote,  which  went  on  as  it  had  always  gone  on.  Every 
time  he  had  come  home,  after  his  periods  of  absence,  he 
had  thought  at  first  that  the  changes  must  make  a  differ- 
ence; but  he  had  very  quickly  adjusted  himself  to  them. 
He  was  in  the  process  of  adjustment  now.  His  father 
looked  a  good  deal  older  than  when  he  had  last  seen  him. 
He  had  lived  such  an  active  life,  and  had  lived  it  for  so 
many  of  his  years  in  the  same  place  and  in  the  same 
way,  that  he  seemed  to  have  stood  still  in  age.  But  age 
had  marked  him  now.  He  was  an  old  man.  And  yet, 
while  he  looked  for  the  signs  of  it,  Frank  was  already 
losing  the  impression.  There  was  so  much  that  was  familiar 
in  his  tones,  and  in  the  turns  of  his  mind,  as  they  exhibited 
themselves  in  his  talk.  His  mother  was  older,  too,  but  not 
yet,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  an  old  woman,  though  she  was 
nearing  seventy.  The  adjustments  to  be  made  in  her  case 
were  small.  Neither  did  Virginia  or  Cicely  seem  much 
older,  nor  Jim  Graham,  with  his  slow  solid  ways  and  speech. 
But  Dick  did.  He  had  been  smart  and  slim  and  soldierly 
up  to  the  age  of  nearly  forty.  He  was  smart  and  soldierly 
now,  with  his  well-knit  frame,  upright  carriage,  and  e$- 


164  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

pensive  inconspicuous  clothes.  But  he  was  slim  no  longer. 
He  had  become  much  more  like  his  father;  the  Guardsman 
was  becoming  merged  in  the  country  gentleman.  He  had 
seemed  to  have  the  perpetual  gift  of  youth;  now  he  was 
middle-aged. 

But  it  was  towards  Joan  that  Frank's  eyes  most  fre- 
quently turned,  and  when  he  looked  at  her  he  usually 
ended  by  smiling  and  sometimes  by  suddenly  laughing. 
This  was  when  he  caught  her  eye,  and  she  would  laugh 
with  him,  having  divined  in  what  respect  the  change  in 
her  amused  him,  and  being  somewhat  amused  by  it  herself. 

In  appearance  she  had  scarcely  altered  since  he  had  last 
seen  her.  She  still  looked  a  young  girl — she  was  not 
quite  twenty-three — though  there  was  that  subtle  change 
in  her  that  comes  of  wifehood  and  motherhood.  She  was 
beautiful  and  happy,  as  she  had  always  been.  It  was 
what  she  now  represented  that  struck  Frank  as  so  irre- 
sistibly comic.  She  and  Nancy  had  been  small  children 
when  he  had  first  gone  to  sea.  On  his  successive  home- 
comings, they  had  been  first  bigger  children,  then  mis- 
chievous school-girls,  then  grown  up,  but  still  michievous, 
and  liable  to  stern  rebuke  if  they  outstepped  the  large  but 
well-defined  limits  of  feminine  liberty  as  it  was  understood 
at  Kencote.  So  he  had  left  them  last.  And  now  Joan  was 
a  great  lady,  at  home  in  the  most  exalted  circles,  her  com- 
ings and  goings  of  importance  enough  to  be  chronicled  in 
responsible  newspapers,  and  the  mother  of  the  extremely 
important  bundle  of  lace  and  cambric  already  referred  to. 
It  wanted  getting  used  to — more  than  the  new  aspect  of  his 
father  as  an  old  man,  and  his  brother  as  a  middle-aged 
one,  especially  as  she  was  to  be  seen  now  in  her  old  familiar 
surroundings,  and  not  in  her  new  glories. 

The  changes  were  greater  this  time  than  they  had  been 
on  former  homecomings,  but  already  the  level  easy  change- 


THE  VOICE  OF  KENCOTE  165 

less  life  of  Kencote  was  obliterating  the  sense  of  them. 
And  yet  they  pointed,  as  they  had  never  done  before,  to 
much  greater  change.  That  could  not  now  be  expected 
to  tarry  for  many  years  longer.  The  Squire  was  seventy- 
two,  still  strong  and  hearty  when  he  was  perfectly  well,  and 
as  a  rule  he  was  perfectly  well.  But  at  seventy-two  a  man 
has  passed  the  allotted  span  of  human  life.  So  much  that 
Kencote  meant  to  Frank,  who  had  spent  his  happy  child- 
hood and  his  happy  holidays  in  it,  depended  upon  him. 
When  he  died  there  would  perhaps  be  less  change  than 
is  usual  upon  the  death  of  a  rich  man.  Dick  would  step 
into  his  place  at  the  great  house,  and  Mrs.  Clinton,  if  she 
survived  her  husband,  would  go  to  the  Dower  House,  where 
Dick  and  Virginia  lived  now.  That  would  be  all,  on  the 
outside,  except  that  Frank  would  exchange  his  handsome 
allowance  for  his  younger  son's  portion,  and  be  thence- 
forward "  on  his  own."  But  it  was  just  there  that  the 
great  change  would  be  felt.  Dick  was  conservative  enough 
in  all  his  ways,  and  Virginia  would  originate  little  apart 
from  him,  but  they  would  not  live  at  Kencote  in  exactly  the 
same  way  as  the  Squire  had  lived.  And  if  they  did,  still 
the  house  would  not  be  Frank's  home  in  the  same  way  as 
it  had  been  before,  welcome  as  he  would  always  be  in  it. 
It  was  the  sense  of  shelter,  of  fatherhood,  that  would  be 
lacking.  Frank  had  never  been  in  the  least  intimate  with 
his  father,  and  his  home  thoughts,  during  his  long  absences, 
had  centred  around  him  less  than  any  member  of  his  family, 
and  far  less  than  around  his  mother.  But  the  fatherhood 
was  there,  with  all  that  it  meant  in  the  long-established 
home  of  which  the  Squire  was  the  head.  Frank  had  had 
a  slight  pang  upon  seeing  him  much  aged.  It  was  the 
shadow  of  the  end,  not  very  long  to  be  delayed. 

There   was   one   slight   change   in   the   atmosphere — but 
perhaps  it  was  only  temporary — that  struck  Frank  as  they 


166  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

sat  and  talked  round  the  tea-table.  Though  remote,  in  its 
quiet  corner  of  the  country,  Kencote  had  always  taken 
to  itself  the  air  of  being  closely  connected  with  all  that 
was  going  on  in  the  great  world — not  the  great  world  of 
politics,  except  in  so  far  as  politics  were  connected  with 
names,  or  of  thought,  which  was  not  one  of  Kencote's  ob- 
sessions, but  of  social  activity.  For  the  greater  part  of 
his  life  the  Squire  had  stuck  to  his  acres  as  closely  as  any 
country  gentleman  of  the  seventeenth  or  eighteenth  cen- 
turies. But  his  wide  relationships  and  the  connections 
of  his  rich  youth  had  brought  him  a  sense  of  personal 
contact  with  much  that  was  going  on  in  the  world  from 
which  he  had  largely  cut  himself  off,  and  he  liked  to 
discuss  it  all  and  feel  that  he  was  still  part  of  it.  And 
Dick  had  been  very  much  part  of  it  during  his  nearly 
twenty  years  of  soldiering;  so  had  Humphrey,  who  had 
been  in  the  Foreign  Office  before  he  had  acquired  his 
Antipodean  interests.  They  had  brought  home  all  the 
news,  and  from  the  conversation  that  had  gone  on.  chiefly 
amongst  the  men,  you  might  have  thought  that  Kencote 
was  one  of  those  great  country  houses  which  only  their 
immediate  surroundings  and  their  distance  from  London 
differentiate  from  a  house  in  Mayfair. 

But  Humphrey  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  world  and 
Dick  was  becoming  bucolic.  The  talk  now  was  of  local 
interests,  and  although  those  interests  were  connected  with 
the  world  outside  the  county  of  Meadshire,  they  were  not 
discussed  except  from  the  local  point  of  view. 

The  downfall  of  Kemsale  was  an  old  story.  Everything 
had  been  said  about  it,  and  said  many  times  over,  that 
concerned  Meadshire's  follies  and  wickedness.  He  was 
wiped  out  now;  it  wouldn't  much  matter  what  he  did  in 
the  future,  except  as  it  affected  dear  Grace,  who  had  stuck 
devotedly  to  him.  And  Kemsale  had  been  wiped  out  with 


THE  VOICE  OF  KENCOTE  167 

him,  as  the  chief  seat  of  aristocratic  importance  in  the 
county.  From  that  point  of  view  it  had  disappeared  as 
completely  as  if  it  had  been  burnt  to  the  ground.  That 
it  had  not  been  burnt  to  the  ground,  but  still  existed  to 
the  outward  eye  what  it  had  always  been,  only  made  of  it 
a  large  country  house  like  any  other,  with  no  character 
except  what  its  new  owners  should  give  it. 

Frank  would  have  welcomed  more  information  as  to  its 
downfall,  which  was  a  somewhat  startling  fact  to  one  who 
had  been  brought  up  to  the  Kencote  view  of  Kemsale.  But 
he  generally  listened  to  the  talk  around  him  when  he  first 
came  home  without  taking  much  part  in  it,  except  to  ask 
an  occasional  question.  He  was  listening  to  it  now,  and 
forming  his  own  impressions. 

The  question  was  of  the  Armitage  Browns,  now  settled, 
at  least  for  a  Whitsuntide  visit,  at  Kemsale.  In  what  man- 
ner were  they  to  be  recognised,  and  when? 

"  I  think  that  the  fellow  ought  to  have  his  chance,"  said 
the  Squire.  "  There  are  all  sorts  of  stories  going  about 
as  to  what  he's  going  to  do,  but  nothing  is  known  for 
certain  yet,  and  if  people  like  ourselves  show  him  that 
we're  quite  ready  to  be  friendly,  if  he  behaves  himself,  it 
may  keep  him  from  making  mistakes  that  will  set  the  whole 
place  against  him." 

"  Kemsale  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  them,"  said 
Dick.  Kemsale,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  the  name  by 
which  Lord  Meadshire  was  best  known  to  his  relations. 

"  Oh,  Kemsale !  "  said  the  Squire.  "  I've  no  patience 
with  Kemsale.  He's  thrown  away  everything,  and  now 
he  wants  to  begin  to  rule  the  roost.  He's  never  been  any 
good  to  anybody.  He  hasn't  even  hunted,  or  shot,  for 
years.  He'll  find  that  nobody  cares  a  bit  what  he  says 
or  does.  Besides,  he's  sold  the  place  to  these  people,  and 
got  their  money.  It  isn't  fair  to  go  and  plant  himself 


168  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

down  on  their  doorstep  and  lay  himself  out  to  annoy  them. 
That's  what  he's  doing,  as  far  as  I  can  make  out,  and  I 
say  it  isn't  playing  the  game." 

"  I  think  you're  right/'  said  Dick. 

"  There's  that  dozen  acres  or  so  carved  out  of  the  very 
middle  of  the  property,"  said  Jim  Graham.  "  That's  a 
serious  matter  for  a  landowner." 

"  I  don't  suppose  it  would  worry  a  man  like  that,"  said 
the  Squire.  "  He  wouldn't  understand  it." 

"  It  might  worry  him  rather  if  the  people  who  lived  there 
made  up  their  minds  to  be  disagreeable  to  him,"  said  Joan. 

Frank  looked  at  her,  and  laughed  with  considerable 
enjoyment. 

Joan  laughed  too.  "  Oh,  I  join  in  the  conversation  occa- 
sionally now,"  she  said.  "  You  must  get  used  to  hearing 
me  air  my  views." 

The  Squire  remained  grave.  Joan's  incursions  into 
conversations  were  permitted,  as  coming  from  the  Countess 
of  Inverell,  but  not  considered  of  intrinsic  importance. 
"  You  have  met  these  people,  Dick,"  he  said.  "  What  are 
they  like  ?  " 

The  question  had  been  asked  and  answered  a  dozen 
times.  It  was  the  way  at  Kencote.  Virginia  answered  it 
this  time.  "  They  are  on  the  whole  what  you  would  call 
in  this  delightful  country  '  all  right,'  "  she  said.  "  In  fact, 
Mr.  Armitage  Brown  has  the  appearance  of  an  American 
millionaire — some  of  the  manners,  too — which  endears  him 
to  me.  7  shall  call  on  them  at  once,  and  bathe  myself  once 
more  in  a  sea  of  dollars.  It  will  be  like  home." 

"Are  they — are  they — vulgar  with  their  money?"  in- 
quired the  Squire,  who  adored  Virginia,  but  was  far  too 
British  in  his  prejudices  to  extend  his  approval  to  her 
countrymen  at  large.  The  American  aristocratic  invasion 
had  risen  to  prominence  after  he  had  retired  to  the  seclu- 


THE  VOICE  OF  KENCOTE  169 

sion  of  Kencote.  He  may  have  had  speech  with  half  a 
dozen  Americans  in  his  life,  probably  with  less.  But  he 
thought  he  knew  them  as  a  nation  through  and  through, 
and  in  his  eyes  they  suffered  from  the  serious  taint  of 
resembling  the  English  lower  middle-class  in  many  of  their 
ways  and  ideas.  He  was  polite  to  such  people,  but  did  not 
treat  them  as  on  an  equality.  Virginia  was  everything  that 
she  should  be,  of  course,  but  then  she  had  adapted  herself; 
one  would  hardly  have  taken  her  to  be  an  American  at  all. 
He  had  once  told  her  so,  and  she  had  been  so  angry  with 
him  that  he  had  almost  noticed  it.  Sometimes  she  pre- 
tended to  be  more  American  than  she  really  was,  after  so 
many  years  of  English  life.  She  seemed  to  be  in  that 
mood  now,  and  it  was  in 'implied  disapproval  of  her  atti- 
tude that  he  asked :  "  Are  they — are  they — vulgar  with  their 
money  ?  " 

"  They  spend  it,"  said  Virginia.  "  Mrs.  Brown's  clothes 
made  me  want  to  go  and  buy  a  shopful.  And  her  luncheons 
and  dinners  at  Cap  Martin  were  too  expensively  perfect  for 
words.  She  must  pay  her  chef  a  fortune." 

"  She's  dull  enough,"  said  Dick.  "  Hardly  a  word  to 
say  for  herself.  But  they  do  you  well.  I  will  say  that  for 
them." 

The  Squire  privately  thought  that  this  was  rather  vulgar, 
or  at  least  ostentatious.  "  People  like  that "  had  no  right 
to  pay  their  chefs  a  fortune.  Or  if  there  was  not  much 
objection  to  their  doing  it  in  foreign  parts,  they  would 
find  that  that  sort  of  thing  wouldn't  go  down  in  the  Eng- 
lish country.  "  They  won't  get  on  here  by  aping  extrava- 
gant French  ways,"  he  said. 

"  Do  they  want  to  cut  a  dash  ?  "  asked  Joan. 

"  If  so,  you  might  give  them  a  leg  up,"  said  Frank,  with 
a  grin. 

"  Oh,  I  could  if  I  liked,"  she  said. 


170  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  Is  the  man  a  sportsman  at  all?  "  asked  the  Squire. 
"  I  suppose  not,  if  he's  spent  all  his  life  grubbing  after 
money." 

The  Squire  had  a  deep  respect  for  money,  but  preferred 
that  it  should  come  of  itself  rather  than  be  made.  At 
the  same  time,  if  enough  had  been  made  to  put  its  maker 
into  the  position  of  owning  a  place  like  Kemsale,  its  source 
might  be  forgiven,  other  things  being  equal. 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  Dick.  "  But  he's  not  going  to  let 
the  shooting  again  to  Irving." 

"  Jim  met  Mr.  Brown's  son  when  he  shot  with  Captain 
Irving  at  Kemsale,"  said  Cicely. 

"And  what's  he  like?"  asked  the  Squire.  "You  never 
told  us  that,  Jim." 

Jim  Graham  paused  for  a  moment,  as  he  always  did  be- 
fore he  replied  to  a  question.  "  He  seemed  all  right,"  he 
said. 

"  What  a  thoroughly  British  answer,"  said  Virginia. 
"  But  I  know  exactly  what  it  means.  He  wore  the  right 
sort  of  clothes,  and  didn't  trouble  to  make  himself  agree- 
able." 

Jim  smiled  his  slow  smile.  "  I  didn't  notice  his  clothes," 
he  said.  "  But  he  did  make  himself  rather  agreeable.  He 
enjoyed  himself.  Irving  and  his  friends  liked  him." 

"  Then  he  must  be  '  all  right,'  as  you  say,"  said  Vir- 
ginia. "  They  could  never  like  anybody  who  only  made 
himself  agreeable  and  enjoyed  himself." 

"  How  did  he  shoot?  "  asked  Dick. 

"  He  didn't  shoot.  He  said  he  never  had,  but  Irving 
was  going  to  put  him  in  the  way  of  it.  He  seemed  rather 
keen.  I  think  he's  an  artist,  or  something  of  that  sort. 
He  said  something  about  the  trunks  of  the  trees  being  a 
jolly  sort  of  grey  as  we  were  going  through  Beeching 
Wood." 


THE  VOICE  OF  KENCOTE  171 

Every  one  laughed  at  this,  even  the  Squire,  who  said 
that  tree  trunks  were  only  grey  on  the  north  side. 

"  I  think  he  must  be  a  nice  young  man,"  said  Virginia. 
"  Do  you  mean  to  say  he  wasn't  ashamed  of  not  being  able 
to  shoot?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Jim.  "  There's  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of." 

"  There's  a  daughter,  too,"  said  Virginia.  "  Quite 
bright  and  nice.  I  hardly  spoke  to  her,  but  I  liked  the 
look  of  her  very  much." 

"  She'll  be  a  nice  companion  for  you,  Joan,"  said  Frank. 

A  slight  diversion  was  caused  here  by  the  appearance 
of  the  Rector  of  Kencote,  whom  every  one  but  the  Squire 
rose  to  greet.  He  was  the  Squire's  half-brother,  some  years 
younger  than  he,  but  looking  older.  He  was  a  big  mild 
gentle  creature,  and  everybody  at  Kencote  loved  him.  His 
wife  had  died  about  a  year  before,  and  he  still  seemed  lost 
without  her.  That  was  why  everybody  rose  to  greet  him  and 
to  bring  him  into  the  circle. 

"  James  Compton  has  just  been  over  to  see  me  from 
Kemsale,"  he  said,  when  they  had  all  settled  themselves 
again. 

"Oh,  why  didn't  you  bring  him  on  here,  Tom?"  said 
the  Squire.  "  He  hasn't  been  near  us  for  months." 

"  Well — er — he  wanted  to  get  back.  He  is  leaving 
Kemsale." 

"  Leaving  Kemsale !  "  This  was  news  indeed.  The  in- 
quiries that  followed  elicited  from  the  Rector,  who  gave 
the  information  with  some  reluctance,  and  left  a  good  deal 
of  it  to  be  inferred,  that  Compton  had  taken  the  late  hap- 
penings at  Kemsale  very  seriously.  It  had  been  the  break- 
up of  everything  there,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned.  He  was 
not  going  to  stay  in  a  place  dominated  by  a  London  money- 
grubber  who  had  risen  from  the  gutter. 


172  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

The  old  man  brought  himself  to  repeat  these  words. 
"  I  didn't  think  it  was  a  nice  way  of  putting  it,"  he  com- 
plained, "  and  I  took  the  liberty  of  telling  him  so.  He 
admitted  that  he  had  kept  out  of  the  way  of  this  Mr. 
Armitage  Brown,  and  couldn't  really  tell  me  anything 
against  him,  except  that  he  had  given  all  the  tenants  at 
Kemsale  notice  to  quit." 

"  Well,  that's  a  pretty  strong  step  in  itself,"  said  the 
Squire. 

"  It  was  only  meant  to  be  a  formal  notice,"  said  Dick. 
"  Fuller  told  me  so." 

"  He  said  he  had  always  lived  amongst  gentlefolks," 
pursued  the  Rector.  "  He  wouldn't  be  comfortable  with 
these  new  people  there." 

"  Well,  do  you  know,  I  think  that's  rather  fine,"  said 
the  Squire.  "  Compton  sticks  by  the  old  order.  So  do 
we  all,  but  I  don't  know  that  we  should  all  be  prepared 
to  make  sacrifices  for  it  in  that  way.  Kemsale  is  a  good 
living,  as  these  things  go  nowadays,  and  he's  prepared  to 
give  it  up  for  the  sake  of  his  principles.  Yes,  I  call  it 
rather  fine." 

Nobody  else  seemed  to  think  it  was  particularly  fine, 
or  if  they  did  they  didn't  say  so.  "  Is  he  going  to  take 
another  living?  "  asked  Dick. 

"  I  didn't  gather  so.  He  said  something  about  buying  a 
house  in  Northamptonshire." 

"  Of  course,  he's  well  enough  off  not  to  have  to  work  if 
he  doesn't  want  to,"  said  the  Squire.  He  must  have 
been  at  Kemsale  ten  or  fifteen  years  now.  He  was  quite 
a  young  fellow  when  he  came  there.  He's  done  his 
work." 

"  Been  pretty  well  paid  for  it,  too,"  said  Jim  Graham, 
who  disliked  Compton  thoroughly,  otherwise  he  would 
hardly  have  brought  criticism  to  bear  upon  such  an  old- 


THE  VOICE  OF  KENCOTE  173 

established  institution  as  the  private  patronage  of  the 
Church  of  England. 

"  He's  had  what  the  living  is  worth,  and  nobody  has 
ever  said  he  hasn't  done  his  work,"  said  the  Squire,  who 
saw  nothing  to  criticise  in  a  system  by  which  in  this  instance 
a  young  man  of  five-and-twenty  had  been  put  into  posses- 
sion, for  life  if  he  chose  to  remain  there,  of  a  large  house, 
several  acres  of  ground,  and  an  income  of  between  five  and 
six  hundred  a  year  for  doing  just  as  much  work  as  he 
pleased.  "  Besides,  the  patronage  of  the  living  is  his  own 
now,"  he  added.  "  He  bought  it  from  Kemsale.  I  wonder 
why  he  did  that." 

"  He  only  bought  the  next  presentation,  as  I  understand," 
said  the  Rector. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  it  was  just  to  put  a  little  money 
into  Kemsale's  pocket.  By  the  by,  he'll  have  to  find  a  new 
incumbent." 

"  He  has  done  that  already.  He  has  been  occupied  with 
it  for  the  last  few  months.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  go 
when  Kemsale  was  sold,  and  has  only  waited  till  he  could 
find  somebody  to  take  his  place." 

"  Well,  he  ought  not  to  have  much  difficulty  about  that. 
It's  a  place  any  parson  might  be  pleased  to  take.  Nice 
house  and  a  decent  income  for  a  man  with  something  of  his 
own,  a  small  parish,  and  a  fair  all-round  sporting  country. 
I  hope  he  has  found  the  right  sort  of  man." 

The  Rector  hesitated.  "  It  is  hardly  the  sort  of  choice 
I  should  have  expected  him  to  make,"  he  said.  "  It  is  a 
Mr.  Sheard." 

This  did  not  tell  them  much,  though  his  tone  told  them 
something.  He  was  pressed  for  further  information. 

"  Well,  he  has  been  for  some  years  a  curate  at  Melbury 
Park." 

"Melbury  Park!"  exclaimed  the  Squire,  and  every  one 


174  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

went  off  into  peals  of  laughter,  in  which  he  joined  himself 
when  he  had  got  over  the  first  shock  of  surprise. 

Melbury  Park,  an  over-built  suburb  of  London,  had  been 
the  scene  of  Walter's  first  exploits  as  a  medical  practi- 
tioner. The  story  has  been  told  elsewhere  of  how  strongly 
the  Squire  had  objected,  first  of  all  to  his  being  a  doctor 
at  all,  and  then  to  his  settling  himself  in  a  place  so  far 
removed  in  quality  if  not  in  space  from  the  world  a  Clinton 
should  inhabit.  It  had  even  been  a  cause  of  disquiet  to 
him  that  Walter's  eldest  son,  who,  in  default  of  children 
of  Dick's  or  Humphrey's,  would  some  day  succeed  to  Ken- 
cote,  might  have  been  born  in  Melbury  Park.  But  that 
disgrace  had  happily  been  averted;  only  daughters  had 
been  born  there,  and  they  didn't  matter.  Walter  had  left 
the  place  two  years  before,  and  its  ghost  seemed  finally 
to  have  been  laid.  And  now  here  it  was  cropping  up 
again. 

"Can  any  good  thing  come  out  of  Melbury  Park?" 
asked  Virginia. 

"A  curate,  you  say?"  said  the  Squire.  "Well,  young 
fellows  who  are  in  earnest  do  go  and  work  in  the  slums 
nowadays.  Still,  it's  odd  that  he  should  come  from  that 
particular  place." 

"  Mr.  Sheard  isn't  young,"  said  the  Rector.  "  He  is  a 
married  man  with  a  large  family.  He  took  orders  com- 
paratively late  in  life.  He  was,  in  fact,  a — a  sailor." 

"  Oh,  was  he?  "   said   Frank.     "  That's   interesting." 

"  He  was  not  in  the — er — Royal  Navy,"  said  the  Rector. 
"  The  mate  of  a  merchant  vessel,  I  understood  James  to  say. 
But  a  good  earnest  man;  I  asked  particularly  about  that." 

There  was  a  pause  of  consternation.  "  What  on  earth 
can  have  induced  Compton  to  put  in  a  man  like  that !  " 
exclaimed  the  Squire.  "  He  must  have  gone  out  of  his 
senses." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SUNDAY    MORNING 

"  THE  first  day  in  the  new  home,"  said  Alfred.  "  Father 
ought  to  be  nailing  up  a  picture  almanac,  with  Kate  and 
me  holding  the  hammer  and  tacks,  and  mother  smiling  at 
us  over  the  teapot." 

It  was  the  Sunday  before  Whitsuntide.  They  had  met 
in  the  "  summer  breakfast-parlour  " — the  Brown  family 
and  Uncle  James  and  Aunt  Millie.  The  large  room — there 
were  no  small  rooms  at  Kemsale — faced  on  to  a  garden 
at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  had  access  by  French  windows 
to  a  broad  flagged  walk  that  ran  the  length  of  the  west 
wing.  The  famous  upholsterer  had  done  well  with  this 
room,  and  the  soaking  heat,  which  had  already  set  in  at 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  was  exactly  what  he  had 
worked  upon,  though  he  could  scarcely  have  expected  that 
it  would  justify  him  so  early  in,  the  year.  The  room  was 
both  bright  and  cool;  brightness  he  had  considered  to  be 
the  one  salient  Victorian  note  never  to  be  lost  sight  of, 
but  in  this  case  he  had  permitted  himself  to  soften  it  by 
the  judicious  addition  of  more  ancient  touches  in  furniture 
and  ornament.  He  had  wished  to  preserve  the  tradition  of 
a  morning  "  parlour,"  which  the  Victorians  had  carried  on 
from  an  earlier  date,  and  the  only  difficulty  he  had  fore- 
seen was  in  the  large  number  of  ground-floor  rooms  at 
Kemsale,  which  would  prevent  any  one  of  them  being  used 
for  more  than  a  single  purpose. 

He  would  have  been  pleased  with  Aunt  Millie's  expression 
of  appreciation.  "  Really,  this  is  a  charming  room,"  she 

175 


176  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

said.     "  Just  the  place  to  spend  a  quiet  and  happy  morning 
in." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  you  can't  do  that,"  said  Alfred.  "  What's 
to  become  of  the  magenta  morning-room  and  the  puce 
boudoir?  You've  got  to  use  them.  You're  allowed  to  have 
your  breakfast  here,  and  then  you  must  go  somewhere  else." 

Mrs.  Brown  disliked  this  kind  of  chaff,  but  had  no 
weapons  with  which  to  meet  it.  She  sat  stiff  and  stately 
behind  the  massive  silver  of  her  tea  and  coffee  equipage, 
full  of  doubts  and  hesitations,  of  which  she  allowed  no 
trace  to  appear.  For  the  first  time  in  a  stage  of  her 
progress,  she  found  herself  at  sea.  She  did  not  know  how 
life  ought  to  be  lived  in  a  house  like  this,  so  as  to  occupy 
it  fully.  Alfred's  pleasantry  was  hardly  a  caricature  of 
her  own  feeling  as  to  what  was  due  to  the  overpowering 
choice  of  rooms.  Nor  did  she  know  how  the  great  tribe 
of  servants  should  be  made  use  of;  her  difficulties  had  even 
stretched  to  such  points  of  detail  as  the  question  of  powder 
and  plush  for  the  footmen. 

She  had  advanced  her  knowledge  during  the  winter  and 
spring  tenancy  of  the  house  in  Berkeley  Square.  Her 
progress  had  been  almost  triumphal  there.  She  had  given 
many  dinners,  and  a  musical  party,  at  which  performers 
of  such  eminence  had  appeared  that  invitations  had  been 
indirectly  pressed  for  from  the  most  gratifying  quarters. 
The  house  in  Berkeley  Square  had  now  been  bought,  and 
was  undergoing  the  same  reconstruction  as  had  befallen 
Kemsale,  which  was  the  reason,  or  part  of  the  reason,  for 
this  early  move  to  the  country.  The  capture  of  London 
was  easy  enough,  with  limitless  wealth  at  command,  and  a 
willingness  to  use  it  to  provide  entertainment;  and  if  the 
capture  was  not  yet  complete,  the  affair  was  all  the  more 
interesting  on  that  account.  It  was  the  fight  for  recogni- 
tion and  social  eminence  that  gave  the  zest,  just  as  the 


SUNDAY  MORNING  177 

fight  for  money  was  more  to  her  husband  than  its  posses- 
sion. And  the  means  had  been  adapted  to  the  end.  The 
large  London  house  had  presented  no  difficulties,  nor  the 
marshalling  of  its  attendant  hosts.  The  rooms  of  state  had 
had  their  appointed  place,  the  private  rooms  had  not 
been  too  many  even  for  a  life  that  was  seldom  private. 

But  here  it  was  all  different.  The  rooms  of  state  were 
here  too,  but  there  were  no  people  to  furnish  them,  nor 
to  employ  the  mobilised  army.  A  houseful  of  guests ! 
She  shrank  from  it.  Part  of  her  success  in  London  and 
on  the  Riviera  had  arisen  from  the  fact  that  she  had  re- 
ceived her  guests  and  lavished  her  gifts  upon  them  with 
a  sort  of  aloof  pride.  She  had  run  after  nobody,  and 
become  intimate  with  nobody.  It  had  been  enough  for  her 
that  the  people  had  been  there,  just  as  the  elaborate  food 
and  the  priceless  wines,  the  gold  and  silver  and  glass,  the 
rare  flowers,  the  tribe  of  silken  powdered  servants,  the 
famous  musicians,  had  been  there.  Entertaining  was  her 
occupation,  to  which  the  entertained  were  essential ;  other- 
wise she  would  have  preferred  to  do  without  them.  They 
came  at  the  appointed  hours,  to  the  set  piece,  played  their 
parts  in  the  carefully  organised  scheme,  and  went  away 
again,  leaving  her  to  her  cold  triumph.  It  was  all  that 
she  wanted  of  them. 

But  what  to  do  with  a  houseful  of  guests  all  day  long! 
It  would  be  an  intolerable  burden. 

The  mistake,  she  was  beginning  to  think,  was  in  having 
bought  a  house  of  the  size  of  Kemsale.  She  was  not  at 
all  without  her  restful  moments.  A  country  house  no  big- 
ger than  "  The  Towers  "  would  have  been  a  pleasant  place 
to  come  to,  as  a  relief  from  the  arduous  but  exciting  career 
to  which  she  had  committed  herself.  With  Millie,  or  some 
of  her  own  relations  to  keep  her  company,  with  the  garden, 
the  house  in  which  she  could  take  a  pride,  Katie  and  some 


178  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

of  her  friends,  and  Alfred  sometimes,  to  provide  the  youth- 
ful stir,  time  would  have  passed  pleasantly,  in  a  country 
house  of  ordinary  size.  The  family  side  of  life,  in  appre- 
ciation of  which  she  was  not  deficient,  would  have  been 
represented  there,  and  would  have  provided  a  welcome  set- 
off  to  the  public  side,  which  could  have  been  left  for  London 
and  the  French  villa.  Her  small  gift  for  genuine  hospi- 
tality would  have  been  satisfied  by  having  with  her  as  often 
as  possible  the  mere  handful  of  friends  she  possessed  out 
of  the  large  and  always-increasing  number  of  her  ac- 
quaintances, and  in  giving  Katie's  friends,  and  Alfred's,  if 
he  liked  to  bring  them,  all  facilities  for  amusing  themselves. 
A  "  house-party  "  drawn  from  other  sources  would  simply 
spoil  her  holiday.  She  would  never  be  at  ease  with  her 
guests,  even  if  she  were  successful  in  providing  them  with 
something  to  do.  Her  own  very  rare  visits  to  country 
houses  had  shown  her,  always  on  the  look-out  for  such 
lessons,  that  the  "  note  "  of  life  in  them  was  intimacy. 
Ordinary  family  life  might  be  decked  out  to  some  extent, 
expanded  to  arranged  pleasures,  for  the  sake  of  guests,  but 
in  essence  the  pleasure  to  be  derived  was  from  sharing 
ordinary  pursuits  with  congenial  people.  If  a  woman — 
men,  with  their  sports,  were  different — but  if  a  woman 
could  not  find  her  enjoyment  in  that,  she  would  gain  little 
pleasure  from  country-house  visiting;  and  indeed  Mrs. 
Brown  had  gained  no  pleasure  from  her  small  experience 
of  it.  The  people  she  met  were  not  her  people,  and  she 
could  not  make  herself  at  home  with  them.  In  spite  of  her 
social  developments  she  remained  as  to  her  private  tastes 
exactly  what  she  had  been  before  her  rise  to  fortune.  She 
warmed  only  to  those  of  the  class  from  which  she  had 
sprung;  towards  the  others  she  must  always  be  playing  a 
part.  This  was  why  she  had  gone  near  to  making  a  friend 
of  Mrs.  Fuller,  whose  assumptions  of  superior  birth,  even 


SUNDAY  MORNING  179 

if  she  had  allowed  them  to  deceive  her,  had  not  destroyed 
the  sense  of  their  being  of  the  same  clay. 

She  had  allowed  that  vision  of  the  country  house  as  a 
place  of  rest  and  retreat  to  play  about  Kemsale,  and  she 
knew  that  her  husband  regarded  the  place  chiefly  in  that 
light.  He  would  want  to  live  his  own  life  in  it,  according 
as  he  might  adjust  it  to  new  pursuits,  and  would  not 
permit  her  to  use  it  in  the  main  as  a  great  palace  of  enter- 
tainment. And  if  she  could  have  been  satisfied  to  allow 
its  decorated  vastness  to  lie  idle,  she  would  have  been  as 
simply  content  at  the  present  moment,  with  all  those  whom 
she  loved  best  around  her,  as  she  had  ever  been  in  her 
life.  But  the  empty  saloons,  the  long  succession  of  fur- 
nished rooms,  the  host  of  servants,  oppressed  her.  She 
could  "  settle  to  nothing." 

As  for  the  rest,  they  were  each  in  their  own  way  pleas- 
antly excited  by  the  new  beginnings.  Armitage  Brown 
regarded  the  large  estate,  which  had  supported  the  dignity 
and  circumstances  of  a  great  family  for  so  many  genera- 
tions, as  a  toy  to  play  with — one  of  the  first  he  had  per- 
mitted himself.  He  wanted  nothing  from  it  but  a  new 
interest.  It  had  been  bought  and  paid  for,  and  "  written 
off."  Its  purchase  had  satisfactorily  accounted  for  some 
of  his  superfluous  thousands,  which  he  would  miss  no  more 
than  he  had  missed  the  purchase  price  of  his  first  semi- 
detached villa,  or,  later,  of  "  The  Towers."  He  would 
make  it  pay,  not  because  he  wanted  its  returns,  but  because 
his  amusement  in  it  would  be  enhanced  by  doing  so.  The 
stakes,  though  not  essential,  were  high  enough ;  and  he 
would  be  dealing  with  actualities,  where  previously  he  had 
dealt  only  with  the  paper  that  represented  them.  He  was 
eager  to  get  to  work,  with  Fuller,  over  the  schemes  he 
had  foreshadowed;  and  in  the  meantime  he  felt  arising  in 
him  a  faint  pleasure  in  the  details  of  his  ownership  that 


180  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

was  a  new  experience  to  him.  He  had  already  inspected 
Alfred's  formal  garden,  now  finished,  except  for  the  matur- 
ing hand  of  time.  He  had  been  interested.  He  did  not 
suppose  he  would  ever  "  take  to  gardening,"  but  a  vision 
had  crossed  his  mind  of  large  "  improvements  "  of  the  same 
sort.  There  was  something  to  base  them  on  now.  Kemsale 
was  his  in  a  way  that  "  The  Towers  "  had  never  been. 
"  Improvements,"  there,  had  been  dictated  either  by  the 
desire  of  the  moment  or  by  the  prospect  of  ultimate  return. 
"  The  Towers  "  had  been  his  as  long  as  he  had  chosen 
to  live  in  it.  Then  it  had  been  sold  without  a  qualm. 
Kemsale  was  his  in  perpetuity,  his  for  much  longer  than 
his  own  life  should  endure.  It  was  part  of  him,  endued 
him  with  something  that  he  had  not  had  before,  something 
that  counted  in  his  character  and  in  his  presentation  of 
himself  to  the  world.  It  was  curious  that  Alfred's  garden 
should  have  brought  this  home  to  him,  but  it  was  so,  and 
not  entirely  because  it  was  Alfred's  who  would  succeed 
him;  although  that  pleased  him  too,  because  Alfred  for  the 
first  time  had  done  something  that  showed  a  tendency  in 
him  to  anchor  himself. 

Alfred  had  suddenly  left  Kemsale  when  the  work  in  the 
formal  garden  had  been  satisfactorily  inaugurated  under 
Douglas  Irving's  directions.  He  had  grown  tired  of  it,  as 
he  had  generally  grown  tired  of  a  place  in  which  he  had 
lived  for  a  month.  But  after  a  winter  and  spring  spent 
chiefly  abroad,  he  had  returned  with  some  eagerness. 
Kemsale  had  taken  hold  of  him,  and  on  that  Sunday  morn- 
ing, getting  up  at  five  o'clock  and  wandering  all  over  the 
gardens  and  up  into  the  beechwoods  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  he  had  thought  he  had  never  been  so  pleased  to  find 
himself  anywhere. 

Katie — bright  little  simple  soul  that  she  was — rejoiced 
in  her  two  "  own  "  rooms  and  the  lovely  prospect  from 


SUNDAY  MORNING  181 

them,  in  the  quiet  of  the  country  after  London,  in  the 
holiday  feeling  of  her  father  and  Uncle  James  being  in 
the  house  and  not  having  to  leave  it  immediately  after 
breakfast,  and  in  fact  in  everything  that  marked  the  fresh- 
ness and  newness  of  the  change.  She  had  made  many 
plans  for  life  at  Kemsale,  based  chiefly  upon  what  she  had 
read  of  country-house  life  in  novels;  for  she  had  had  no 
experience  of  it  on  her  own  account.  She  was  to  make 
friends  with  all  the  comfortable  farmers'  wives  and  their 
families,  and  "  visit  "  all  the  cottagers,  making  friends  with 
them  too.  She  was  to  be  made  free  of  the  village  school, 
and  help  to  decorate  the  church  in  festal  seasons.  She  was 
to  find  girls  of  her  own  age  and  tastes  in  the  houses  around, 
and  especially  in  the  various  rectories  and  vicarages ;  and 
when  she  should  have  made  herself  at  home  with  them  all 
they  were  to  have  splendid  times  together  in  the  great  new 
house,  which  would  afford  such  opportunities  for  games 
and  .dancing  and  all  sorts  of  merriment.  She  would  ask 
her  old  friends  there  too.  It  would  be  no  burden  to  her  to 
look  after  a  party  as  big  as  the  house  could  hold,  and  for 
as  long  as  she  could  keep  it  together.  The  only  shadow  in 
her  future  was  cast  by  her  mother's  great  formal  parties, 
which,  if  they  were  to  be  anything  like  the  parties  at  Cap 
Martin  or  in  Berkeley  Square,  would  consist  of  scores  of 
people  whom  she  did  not  care  for,  and  who,  judging  by  the 
way  they  ignored  her,  did  not  care  for  her.  The  thought 
of  a  house-party  of  that  sort  oppressed  her  as  much  as  it 
did  her  mother.  But  in  the  meantime  here  they  were  all 
together,  with  dear  Uncle  James  and  Aunt  Millie  added, 
and  nothing  to  do  but  enjoy  themselves  in  the  lovely 
weather  and  the  lovely  new  place. 

Armitage  Brown  sat  at  the  breakfast-table  in  a  black 
morning  coat,  and  would  presently  endue  himself  with  a 
tall  hat  to  go  to  church  in.  He  always  went  to  church  on 


182  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

Sunday  morning,  and  this  was  the  costume  that  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  go  in.  His  wife  was  very  elaborately 
dressed,  for  the  same  purpose. 

"  By  the  by,"  he  said,  "  is  there  a  pew  that  goes  with 
the  house?  I  didn't  ask  Fuller." 

Alfred  was  reminded  of  events  that  he  had  almost  for- 
gotten. "  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  a  little  trouble  there," 
he  said.  "  There  is  a  pew,  in  the  chancel,  and  as  far  as 
I  could  make  out  from  Fuller,  it  does  go  with  the  house ; 
you've  got  a  legal  right  to  it;  at  least  he  thinks  so,  and 
Mrs.  Fuller  is  sure  of  it,  though  how  she  knows  I  can't 
say.  But  Lord  Meadshire  intends  to  make  a  fight  for  it, 
apparently.  He  gets  there  early  and  occupies  it,  and 
unless  you  want  to  turn  him  out  by  violence,  you  will  have 
to  sit  elsewhere." 

Everybody  looked  at  the  head  of  the  house,  most  of  them 
with  some  consternation.  Meadshire's  hostility  had  nc.  yet 
become  known  to  them,  and  this  example  of  it  was  discon- 
certing. What  would  be  done? 

Armitage  Brown's  face  was  dark.  If  there  was  a  legal 
right,  it  was  in  his  character  to  fight  for  it  to  the  bitter 
end.  Unless  Meadshire  was  prepared  to  pay  heavily  for 
an  empty  privilege,  he  had  been  ill-advised  to  invite  litiga- 
tion that  would  be  taken  up  to  the  highest  court  if  it  was 
entered  upon  at  all. 

"  We  had  better  find  another  seat  for  the  present,"  said 
Armitage  Brown  shortly. 

Mrs.  Brown  was  loath  to  give  up  any  seat  of  honour. 
"  For  the  present,  yes,"  she  said.  "  But  if  it  really  belongs 
to  us,  Lord  Meadshire  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  take 
possession  of  it." 

Armitage  Brown  was  still  frowning.  Now  he  raised  his 
eyes.  "  I'm  not  going  to  enter  into  a  struggle  about  a  seat 
in  the  House  of  God,"  he  said. 


SUNDAY  MORNING  183 

It  was  the  ingrained  Puritanism  in  which  he  had  been 
brought  up  coming  out  in  him.  His  religion,  ever  since 
his  youth,  had  begun  and  ended  with  his  Sunday  morning 
attendance  at  church;  no  one  in  the  room  had  ever  heard 
him  mention  it.  But,  apparently,  it  was  strong  enough  as 
a  sentiment  to  prevent  his  stirring  to  claim  his  just  rights. 

"  That's  the  way  to  take  it,"  said  Uncle  James,  who  had 
relinquished  regular  church-going  years  ago  in  favour  of 
golf.  "  If  he  sees  you  don't  care,  he'll  be  ashamed  of  him- 
self. At  least  he  ought  to  be.  I  should." 

Meadshire  did  look  rather  uncomfortable,  although  he 
carried  it  off  with  an  air  of  being  much  at  his  ease,  when 
the  Brown  family  took  the  places  to  which  Fuller  con- 
ducted them  in  the  front  pew  of  the  nave.  He  was  accom- 
panied by  two  elderly  ladies  and  a  young  one.  Grace  was 
not  there.  He  stared  at  all  our  friends  in  turn,  but  re- 
moved his  eyes  when  he  met  those  of  Armitage  Brown, 
which  were  slightly  narrowed.  It  was  the  first  time  that 
he  had  seen  the  man  from  whom  he  had  bought  Kemsale. 

There  was  some  stir  in  the  church  when  there  entered, 
instead  of  Compton,  a  short  sturdy  bearded  man  in  surplice 
and  stole,  but  with  no  academic  hood,  who,  at  the  ap- 
pointed time  in  the  service,  read  himself  in  as  the  new 
Rector  of  Kemsale.  The  rumour  had  got  about  that  Comp- 
ton was  going  to  leave,  but  nobody  had  known,  until  a  few 
days  before,  that  he  had  long  since  made  his  arrangements 
to  do  so,  and  had  already  appointed  his  successor.  Fuller 
had  whispered  the  news  to  Alfred  as  they  had  entered  the 
church:  "  The  new  Rector  reads  himself  in  to-day — man  of 
the  name  of  Sheard."  That  was  all  the  information  that 
anybody  had,  and  the  whisperings  and  buzzings  that  spread 
over  the  church  marked  the  degree  of  surprise  that  was 
felt  at  the  sudden  occurrence. 

Meadshire   seemed  more   surprised   than   anybody.      He 


184  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

tugged  at  his  moustache,  frowned  and  stared  at  the  new- 
comer, looked  all  about  him  for  enlightenment,  and  ap- 
parently found  none.  It  would  have  seemed  that  in  vacat- 
ing his  living  and  appointing  as  his  successor  a  man  as 
unlike  what  the  Rector  of  Kemsale  had  always  been  as  it 
was  possible  to  find,  and  keeping  it  all  secret  till  the  last 
moment,  Compton  had  meant  to  mark  his  contemptuous  for- 
saking of  a  place  that  was  no  longer  fit  for  him,  and  to 
do  it  in  such  a  way  that  his  cousin,  who  had  brought  about 
the  catastrophe,  should  feel  his  displeasure.  Had  that  idea 
been  at  the  root  of  his  curious  behaviour?  Nobody  ever 
knew.  He  had  advertised  for  an  incumbent  for  a  country 
living.  Mr.  Sheard  had  answered  the  advertisement,  had 
seen  his  patron,  and  been  informed  later  that  his  applica- 
tion was  accepted.  Compton  had  already  left  the  rectory, 
and  was  not  seen  at  Kemsale  again. 

But  it's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good.  Here  was 
a  man  of  small  education,  but  a  strong  inclination  towards 
the  ways  of  the  Church,  who  had  arrived  after  many  years 
and  great  difficulties  at  his  goal,  but  could  hardly  have  ex- 
pected to  have  come  in  for  one  of  the  "  plums  "  of  his 
new  profession,  as  he  had  now  so  surprisingly  done.  The 
house  and  glebe,  the  five  or  six  hundred  a  year  of  income, 
might  have  been  only  something  in  the  way  of  a  rich 
"  extra "  to  a  man  of  Compton's  resources ;  to  this  man 
they  meant  everything  he  could  desire  in  life,  for  himself 
and  his  family.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  in  presenting  Mr. 
Sheard  to  the  living  of  Kemsale,  its  patron  had  not  been 
unmoved  by  the  consideration  that  he  was  bestowing  his 
favour  where  it  would  bring  the  greatest  benefit. 

The  service  was  read  slowly  and  quietly,  in  a  voice  not 
without  the  suspicion  of  a  "  burr."  The  sermon  was  short, 
and  what  in  Armitage  Brown's  youthful  days  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  hear  spoken  of  as  "  earnest."  He  listened 


SUNDAY  MORNING  185 

to  it  with  appreciation,  though  he  was,  in  fact,  in  a  state 
of  some  bewilderment  about  the  whole  affair.  He  was  not 
quite  satisfied  that  the  advent  of  this  new  Rector  on  the 
first  Sunday  that  he  himself  had  come  to  church  at  Kem- 
sale  did  not  represent  a  move  against  him,  of  the  same 
nature  as  Meadshire's  occupation  of  the  chancel  pew.  He 
was  dimly  aware  of  the  fact  of  private  patronage  in  the 
Church  of  England,  and  thought  that  if  the  patronage  of 
Kemsale  had  been  vested  in  the  family  of  Meadshire,  it 
was  quite  likely  that  he  had  bought  it  with  all  the  rest. 
He  meant  to  look  into  the  matter  later,  but  in  the  meantime 
he  was  inclined  to  like  this  honest,  rather  rough-looking 
man  in  the  pulpit. 

His  mind  Was  set  at  rest  upon  the  subject  of  the  patron- 
age by  Fuller,  who  came  to  luncheon  with  his  wife  and 
daughter.  "  The  presentation  to  the  living  is  a  separate 
affair,"  he  said.  "  I  think  you  might  have  been  consulted 
on  the  matter,  as  you'll  be  the  chief  man  concerned;  but 
Compton  was  a  queer  fellow.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I 
don't  think  you'll  find  him  much  loss." 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  shall,"  said  Armitage  Brown,  who 
had  heard  something  about  Compton  from  Alfred.  "  And 
Mr.  Sheard  will  suit  me  very  well,  as  far  as  I've  got  any- 
thing to  do  with  it.  Has  he  moved  in  yet?  Is  he  a  family 
man?  Oughtn't  we  to  do  something  to  show  him  that  he's 
welcome  ?  " 

Kind  little  Herbert  brightened.  "  It  would  make  things 
comfortable  all  round,"  he  said.  "  It's  a  bit  of  a  surprise 
to  us  all,  having  a  man  like  that  put  in  here,  but  there's 
nothing  against  him,  as  far  as  I  know,  except  that  he's 
poor." 

"  That's  nothing  against  a  clergyman,"  said  the 
millionaire. 

"  Oh,  no.     And  I  dare  say  there  will  be  opportunities 


186  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

of  lending  him  a  helping  hand.  Yes,  I  believe  he  has  a 
considerable  family.  They  all  move  in  at  the  end  of  this 
week.  Compton's  things  are  to  be  taken  away  to-morrow. 
Compton  has  already  gone.  Sheard  is  in  the  rectory  to-day. 
I  don't  know  whether  he  is  going  back  to  London,  or 
whether  he'll  stay  on  here." 

"  What  about  this  chancel  pew?  "  asked  Armitage  Brown. 
"  Is  it  mine  or  Lord  Meadshire's  ?  " 

Fuller's  face  fell.  This  was  an  unpleasant  topic,  and 
foreboded  strife.  "  I  believe  it  to  be  yours,"  he  said, 
"  though  Lord  Meadshire  says  it's  his.  The  lawyers  will 
know." 

"  He  can  keep  it,"  said  Armitage  Brown,  "  though  I 
shall  be  obliged  if  you  will  get  a  legal  opinion  on  the  point. 
And  you  can  tell  his  lordship,  if  you  get  an  opportunity, 
that  he  needn't  come  to  church  early  to  take  possession  of 
it.  You  can  tell  him,  too  " — he  raised  his  voice  here — "  that 
if  he  wants  to  go  to  law  with  me,  and  will  find  a  decent 
excuse,  I  shall  be  quite  ready  to  oblige  him.  He  can  have 
his  bellyful  of  law,  if  that's  the  line  he's  going  to  take  up." 

This  conversation  took  place  on  the  way  from  church. 
Over  the  luncheon-table  Mrs.  Fuller  made  the  mistake  of 
criticising  the  appearance  and  speech  of  the  new  Rector. 
"  It  has  been  the  most  extraordinary  affair  altogether." 
she  said.  "Mr.  Compton  was  not  a  very  amiable  person, 
it's  true,  but  he  was  a  gentleman.  What  on  earth  can  have 
induced  him  to  put  a  man  like  this  into  the  living  beats  me 
altogether.  It  looks  very  much  as  if  he  had  wanted  to 
score  off  us  all." 

Armitage  Brown  bent  his  brows  upon  her  with  a  look 
of  inquiry  and  dawning  dislike.  Then  he  said:  "Alfred, 
you  and  I  will  go  down  and  see  Mr.  Sheard  this  afternoon ; 
and  I  shall  ask  him  to  stay  here,  my  dear,  till  he  moves  in, 
if  it's  any  convenience  to  him." 


SUNDAY  MORNING  187 

Mrs.  Fuller  hastened  to  amend  her  error,  if  by  any 
adroitness  she  could  do  so.  "  Now  I  call  that  really  kind, 
Mr.  Brown,"  she  said.  "  I  was  going  to  ask  Herbert  to 
do  the  same,  but  of  course  Mr.  Sheard  would  far  rather 
come  here  than  to  our  little  place.  I  thought  he  seemed  a 
particularly  nice  man,  from  his  sermon  this  morning.  I 
only  thought  it  odd  that,  being  what  he  was,  Mr.  Compton 
should  not  have  chosen  to  put  one  of  his  own  sort  into  so 
good  a  living  as  this.  If  you  had  known  him,  that  is  what 
you  would  have  expected  of  him." 

"  We'll  go  round  the  place  this  afternoon,  and  see  where 
those  golf  links  are  to  be  laid  out,"  said  Armitage  Brown 
to  his  brother. 


CHAPTER  XV 
SUNDAY    AFTERNOON 

IT  was  a  good  mile  from  the  house  to  the  church,  and 
Mrs.  Brown  had  wanted  to  drive  there  and  back.  It  was 
partly  for  this  purpose  that  horses  and  carriages  had  been 
added  to  the  stud  of  motor-cars.  There  were  progresses 
that  she  wished  to  make  in  the  more  stately  fashion,  and 
her  husband  had  had  no  objection  to  the  acquirement  of  the 
necessary  means.  He  had  objected,  however,  to  the  taking 
out  of  horses  and  carriages  on  Sunday.  Motor-cars  were 
different;  or  so  he  said,  and  thought.  So  Mrs.  Brown  and 
Aunt  Millie  had  motored  to  church,  but  walked  back,  and 
it  had  been  possible  for  Alfred  to  introduce  his  friends  from 
Little  Kemsale  to  his  family,  before  their  respective  ways 
diverged. 

The  Irvings  would  not  come  round  by  Kemsale,  as  they 
were  invited  to  do,  because  of  the  heat  for  Woozle  and 
Jimbo,  but  engaged  themselves  to  come  up  in  the  afternoon 
and  talk  about  the  garden.  The  arrangement  rather  dis- 
pleased Mrs.  Brown,  who  thought  that  Beatrix,  at  least, 
ought  to  have  "  called  "  before  being  made  free  of  the 
house ;  but  she  hid  her  slight  displeasure  and  intimated  a 
welcome.  Alfred  and  Katie  were  always  doing  that  sort 
of  thing — making  friends  and  throwing  all  proper  cere- 
mony with  them  to  the  winds.  But  as  they  also  took  the 
burden  of  privately  "  entertaining  "  them  off  her  shoulders, 
there  were  compensations.  She  intimated  to  Katie  that  that 
must  be  done  in  this  instance.  "  They're  your  friends,"  she 
said ;  "  yours  and  Alfred's.  They  seem  to  be  quite  nice 

188 


SUNDAY  AFTERNOON  189 

people,  but  I  mustn't  be  left  to  make  conversation  to 
them." 

They  were  not  yet  Katie's  friends,  but  she  hoped  they 
would  be;  and  conversation  had  already  flowed  so  freely 
that  there  would  be  no  need  for  anybody  to  "  make  "  it. 
She  already  adored  the  children,  and  admired  and  liked 
Beatrix. 

She  managed  to  get  Beatrix  to  herself  when  the  Irvings 
came  up  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  took  her  up  to  her 
"  own  "  rooms  for  a  talk.  "  I  suppose  you  have  been  here 
before,"  she  said.  "  These  were  Lady  Grace's  rooms, 
weren't  they?  Why  wasn't  she  in  church  this  morning? 
Alfred  said  that  neither  of  those  ladies  was  she.  Has  she 
gone  away  ?  " 

Beatrix  selected  the  question  easiest  to  answer.  "  She 
hasn't  gone  away,"  she  said.  "  She  is  coming  to  tea  with 
me  this  afternoon.  She  generally  does  on  Sundays." 

"  Oh,  then  you  won't  be  able  to  stay  here.  I'm  so  sorry. 
Isn't  this  room  nice?  I've  left  it  almost  entirely  as  it  was. 
I  do  so  admire  her  taste.  I  could  never  have  made  the 
room  anything  like  this.  I  am  sure  she  must  be  nice.  Why 
didn't  she  take  her  things  with  her  to  her  new  home  ?  " 

Beatrix  looked  at  her.  She  was  such  a  cheerful  simple 
little  soul  that  she  felt  like  loving  her  already.  Should 
she  tell  her?  That  Grace  had  not  taken  her  "things" 
with  her  was  the  main  reason  why  the  enmity,  of  which 
this  little  person  seemed  as  yet  to  be  unconscious,  was 
to  be  kept  up,  from  the  Herons'  Nest.  She  decided  that 
she  would  not  tell  her.  It  would  spoil  her  pleasure  in  her 
"  things."  And  Beatrix  was  not  without  hope  that  the 
enmity  would  dissolve  before  it  became  too  apparent.  She 
had  made  light  advances  to  Grace  on  the  subject,  and 
Grace  had  avoided  them,  but  had  showed,  Beatrix  thought, 
that  it  distressed  her.  She,  at  least,  with  her  kind  heart 


190  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

and  gentle  ways,  could  not  feel  enmity  against  Katie  Brown. 
Nobody  could,  if  they  knew  her  ever  so  slightly. 

"  She  is  nice,"  she  said.  "  You  will  be  sure  to  like  her. 
Come  down  to  tea  with  me  this  afternoon  and  get  to  know 
her." 

Katie's  face  lit  up,  but  subsided  again.  She  had  learnt 
her  mother's  views  with  regard  to  conventional  methods 
of  approach. 

"  I  should  love  to,"  she  said.  "  But  I  don't  know. 
Wouldn't  she  call  on  mother  first,  if  she  wanted  to  know 
us  ?  " 

Beatrix  stiffened.  She  had  not  expected  this  sort  of 
"  nonsense  "  from  Katie.  "  As  you  like,"  she  said.  "  But 
if  you  are  coming  to  my  house  often,  as  I  hope  you  will, 
you  can't  always  expect  to  avoid  her." 

Katie  looked  puzzled.  Her  simple  heart  went  along  with 
a  clever  brain.  "  That  means  that  she  won't  call  on  mother," 
she  said.  "  She  doesn't  want  to  know  us."  Then,  as 
Beatrix  made  no  reply,  she  said:  "What  is  it  all  about? 
They  talked  about  Lord  Meadshire  fighting  father  this 
morning.  There's  a  sort  of  feeling  in  the  air  that  they 
want  to  quarrel  with  us.  Why  should  they?  Does  Lady 
Grace  want  to  quarrel?  " 

"  No,  I'm  quite  sure  she  doesn't.    But " 

"But  what?  She  doesn't  want  to  know  us?  Does  she 
think  we're  too  common  for  her?  " 

"  Common "  had  been  a  word  much  in  use  at  Katie's 
school.  Her  own  happy  nature,  as  well  as  the  riches  by 
which  she  was  known  to  be  surrounded,  had  prevented 
the  word  being  applied  to  her;  but  she  kept  her  eyes  open, 
at  Cap  Martin  and  at  Berkeley  Square. 

"  She  certainly  wouldn't  think  that  if  she  saw  you,"  said 
Beatrix.  "  That's  why  I  asked  you  to  come  to  tea  with  me. 
There's  really  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't." 


SUNDAY  AFTERNOON  191 

"  I  should  like  to  come/'  said  Katie.  "  I  want  to  see 
your  house,  for  one  thing.  And  I  should  like  to  see  her 
too.  I  feel  that  I  know  her  a  little,  living  in  these  rooms 
that  were  hers,  and  I  feel  that  I  should  love  her  too,  if 
she'd  let  me.  Alfred  has  told  me  about  her.  It  is  mother 
who  thinks  calling  is  so  important.  I  don't,  especially  if 
you  don't.  But  I  want  to  know  how  we  all  stand  first. 
You  haven't  told  me.  You  shirk  my  questions." 

Beatrix  laughed.  "  I  won't  shirk  them  any  longer,"  she 
said.  "  I'll  be  as  straightforward  as  possible.  Lord  Mead- 
shire  is  up  against  your  father,  as  they  say.  He  doesn't 
like  to  be  turned  out  of  Kemsale,  and  see  him  taking  his 
place." 

"  Turned  out  of  Kemsale !  "  exclaimed  Katie.  "  But  he 
told  Kemsale  to  father.  Surely " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  I  know  all  that.  His  feeling  is  unreason- 
able— on  the  whole.  But  you  can  make  allowances,  can't 
you?  And  Lord  Meadshire  isn't  a  very  wise  man.  He's 
a  kind  one,  though.  I  think  his  feeling  will  die  down,  when 
you  all  come  to  know  one  another." 

Katie  considered  this.  "  It  does  seem  to  me  unreason- 
able," she  said.  "  But  I  suppose  one  can  make  allowances 
for  him,  as  you  say.  Does  she  feel  as  he  does — Lady 
Grace,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  she  does.  She's  sensible,  if  he  isn't. 
I  should  say  that  she  minds  leaving  Kemsale  very  little. 
She  loves  her  Herons'  Nest." 

"  But  she  takes  her  line  from  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  she  even  does  that.  Come  and  see 
for  yourself." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  will.  I  shouldn't  like  to  make  her 
uncomfortable,  though.  I  don't  want  to  be  made  uncom- 
fortable myself." 

"  You  won't  be.     There'll  be  the  children — and  me." 


192  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  Yes ;  she  couldn't  be  really  rude  to  me,  could  she  ?  " 

"  You  wouldn't  ask  that  if  you  knew  her." 

"  You  like  her  very  much,  don't  you?  " 

"  Yes,  very  much.  So  will  you.  Now  say  you  will 
come." 

Katie  said  that  she  would. 

The  five  men  smoked  and  drank  their  coffee  in  the  garden 
behind  the  house,  where  there  were  cushiony  lawns  and 
cedars  and  peacocks,  dividing  walls  of  mellow  red  brick 
with  arched  openings  into  other  divisions  of  the  garden, 
and  beyond  it,  and  on  one  side,  balustraded  stone  stairs 
leading  to  higher  and  lower  levels.  There  were  at  least 
a  dozen  separate  gardens  at  Kemsale.  To  Douglas  Irving, 
looking  round  him  at  this  one,  which  was  not  the  least 
beautiful  of  them,  there  came  a  sense  of  the  futility  of 
such  an  overwhelming  aggregation  of  possessions  as  was 
indicated  everywhere  at  Kemsale.  This  garden  would  have 
been  a  delight  to  any  one,  if  it  had  stood  alone,  with  the 
necessary  addendum  of  ground  for  use  somewhere  behind 
its  boundary  walls.  It  would  have  been  more  than  big 
enough  to  do  anything  that  one  wanted  to  do  with  a  garden, 
would  have  provided  endless  resources  for  its  owner.  But 
as  it  was,  it  was  just  there,  a  charming  place  to  look  at,  to 
walk  about  in,  to  sit  in,  but  providing  no  interest  of  scheme 
or  anticipation,  except  in  its  yearly  flower-furnishing,  which 
was  attended  to  by  gardeners.  With  a  garden  that  was 
finished  and  matured,  as  far  as  design  and  planting  of 
trees  and  shrubs  was  concerned,  the  arrangement  of  flowers 
would  provide  the  necessary  interest  if  one  were  to  feel 
it  as  a  living,  moving  part  of  one's  experience.  To  allow 
it  to  be  done  by  others  as  part  of  a  routine,  however 
well  it  might  be  done,  was  almost  to  lose  possession 
of  it. 

He  looked  at  its  owner  with  a  sort  of  baffled  curiosity. 


SUNDAY  AFTERNOON  193 

Armitage  Brown  was  at  full  ease,  smoking  his  cigar,  not 
troubling  himself  to  talk  much.  Probably  he  experienced 
some  pleasure  in  this  quiet  gracious  place,  possibly  some 
mild  proprietary  gratification  over  it.  And,  as  it  was,  it 
called  for  no  other  feeling  from  him.  It  was  too  finished, 
too  perfect;  and  he  had  had  nothing  to  do  with  making 
it  so.  Was  that,  then,  all  that  his  wealth  could  procure 
him — the  expensive  finished  article?  If  so,  Douglas  him- 
self, every  inch  of  whose  garden  was  alive  to  him,  was 
better  off  in  that  respect  than  he  was,  with  his  acres  upon 
.acres  of  ground,  most  of  which  he  had  not  yet  seen,  and 
was  in  no  hurry  to  see. 

Was  this  great  wealth,  which  in  so  many  cases  seemed 
to  belittle  all  simple  satisfactions,  really  to  be  desired? 
Not  if  one  made  no  more  of  it  than  an  Armitage  Brown. 
But  then,  one  would.  One  would  use  it  to  the  full,  revel 
in  it,  get  the  last  ounce  of  gratification  out  of  the  oppor- 
tunities it  afforded.  Why  was  it  that  the  people  who 
had  it  never  seemed  to  know  how  to  make  use  of  it? 
Its  very  proximity,  in  the  person  of  this  millionaire,  ex- 
cited Douglas.  He  saw  for  a  moment  quite  clearly  for 
how  little  the  wealth  might  count,  but  could  not  see  that 
it  might  count  for  little  with  himself.  His  own  satisfac- 
tions seemed  to  have  shrunk,  in  comparison  with  what 
they  might  have  been  if  he  had  had  limitless  money  at 
command.  He  no  longer  felt  that  he  had  everything  in 
the  world  that  he  could  possibly  want,  when  this  man  had 
so  much  more,  although  he  seemed  unfitted  to  make  use 
of  it.  He  had  a  feeling  towards  him  that  he  could  not 
have  justified.  His  wealth  was  so  great  that  it  loomed 
much  larger  than  his  personality.  If  he  had  been  with- 
out it  Douglas  would  have  found  him  quite  uninteresting, 
their  lives  and  their  habits  lying  so  far  apart.  With  it, 
he  was  a  man  to  cultivate,  if  possible  to  be  liked,  and 


194  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

by  all  means  short  of  a  loss  of  self-respect  to  be  encour- 
aged to  liking. 

They  all  walked  about  the  park  together,  and  discussed 
the  laying  out  of  the  golf  links.  Douglas  and  Uncle 
James,  who  were  the  only  golfers  amongst  them,  quickly 
agreed  upon  the  general  lie  of  the  course,  and  discussed 
details  with  energy.  Alfred  scoffed  at  the  whole  scheme; 
Fuller  made  suggestions  of  little  value.  Armitage  Brown 
was  grimly  humorous  about  it,  and  encouraged  his  brother 
and  Douglas  to  differ  on  the  points  where  they  were 
inclined  to  do  so. 

"  Well,  Captain  Irving,"  he  said  at  last,  "  you  seem  to 
know  all  about  it.  I  think  you'd  better  lay  out  the  ground. 
If  you  do  it  half  as  well  as  you  did  Alfred's  garden,  we 
shall  have  something  to  be  proud  of." 

Douglas  was  immensely  pleased.  He  had  forgotten  the 
millionaire  in  his  host  for  a  time.  Now  he  remembered  it. 
Armitage  Brown  was  inclined  to  be  friendly  with  him. 

Uncle  James,  who  could  never  have  enough  exercise, 
persuaded  Fuller  to  go  off  for  a  walk  with  him.  Douglas 
Irving  went  with  the  other  two  to  call  on  the  new  Rector. 

They  found  him  just  returned  from  the  school.  He 
was  in  the  big  room,  intended  for  a  drawing-room,  which 
Compton  had  used  for  his  books.  It  was  lined  with  them; 
nothing  had  as  yet  been  removed  from  the  house.  It  was 
as  attractive  a  room  for  a  bookish  man  as  could  have  been 
imagined,  luxuriously  but  soberly  furnished,  and  looking 
out  on  to  a  quiet  shady  garden. 

Mr.  Sheard  seemed  at  first  to  be  somewhat  disconcerted 
by  the  visit.  In  this  house,  so  different  from  any  he  had 
ever  expected  to  inhabit,  so  unlike  what  it  would  be  when 
he  did  come  to  inhabit  it,  and  in  surroundings  so  much 
in  contrast  with  those  in  which  his  clerical  life  had  been 
spent,  it  was  not  surprising  that  he  still  felt  astray.  When 


SUNDAY  AFTERNOON  195 

he  understood  that  the  visit  was  one  of  welcome,  he 
showed  himself  gratified,  and  talked  with  more  freedom; 
but  it  was  not  until  Armitage  Brown,  finding  himself 
hampered  in  saying  various  things  that  he  wanted  to  say 
by  the  presence  of  Douglas  and  Alfred,  suggested  that 
they  should  go  away,  that  the  ice  was  broken  between 
the  two  elder  men. 

They  were  not  unlike  in  their  rugged  directness,  to 
which  the  one  had  attained  in  his  fight  for  wealth,  the 
other  in  his  long  struggle  against  poverty.  It  had,  in 
essence,  been  the  same  struggle,  though  with  very  different 
aims  and  issues,  and  each  in  his  own  way  was  sure  of  the 
ground  on  which  he  stood. 

"  You'll  find  it  rather  an  expensive  business,  moving 
here  from  London,  Mr.  Sheard." 

"  Oh,  not  so  very,  sir.  I've  not  much  to  move ;  nothing, 
I'm  afraid,  that  won't  look  very  poor  in  a  house  like  this. 
But  we'll  make  the  best  of  it.  We  shall  have  the  fine 
rooms,  and  the  garden,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  It'll  be  a 
great  change  for  us." 

"  May  I  ask  if  you  have  a  large  family?  " 

"  Four  boys  and  two  girls.  Large  enough,  but  I  wouldn't 
have  it  smaller;  and  they're  all  doing  well  for  themselves, 
those  that  are  old  enough." 

"Grown  up,  then,  most  of  them?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  The  youngest  is  eighteen.  That's  William. 
He's  at  school  still;  but  I  think  he'll  have  to  come  and 
study  at  home  now.  He  won't  mind  that;  he's  a  good 
hard-working  boy.  So  are  they  all.  Oh,  they've  done 
•well  for  themselves." 

"  Tell  me  about  the  rest,  Mr.  Sheard." 

"Well,  sir,  I'm  proud  of  them.  There  hasn't  been 
much  money,  but  we've  been  lucky  in  education.  We've 
had  good  schools  within  reach;  we've  always  lived  in 


196  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

London,  even  when  I  was  at  sea;  and  with  scholarships, 
and  so  on,  they've  hardly  cost  me  a  penny.  There's  John, 
my  eldest,  he's  a  Fellow  of  his  College  at  Cambridge,  and 
in  Orders,  married,  and  doing  well.  Henry's  a  doctor, 
doing  well,  too;  he  cost  me  something,  but  not  much. 
Charles  is  in  the  Navy;  his  godfather  helped  him;  one 
of  'em  had  to  follow  the  sea;  it's  in  the  blood.  That's 
all  the  boys.  Mary  is  mistress  in  a  high  school;  and 
little  Anne — well,  she's  nineteen,  but  we  call  her  little 
Anne — she's  been  at  home  so  far." 

"  And  you've  really  been  able  to  do  all  that  for  your 
children,  Mr.  Sheard!  Well,  I  think  it  does  you  credit, 
and  them  too.  Now  you've  got  to  take  it  easy  a  bit,  and 
we've  got  to  help  you.  I'm  glad  you've  come  here  just 
at  the  time  we  have.  We  shall  be  new  brooms  together. 
One  of  the  things  I  want  to  say  to  you  is  that  where 
money  is  wanted  for  your  work  here,  you  can  always  come 
to  me.  I  want  to  do  what's  right  by  the  place,  and  I 
look  to  you  to  help  me  there." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Brown.  I  shan't  forget  what  you've 
said." 

"Now  can  I  do  anything  for  you  personally?"  He 
spoke  quickly,  to  get  out  what  he  had  to  say  against 
possible  protest.  "  I  should  consider  it  a  privilege,  and 
nobody  need  know  of  it  but  ourselves.  I've  a  great  respect 
for  the  clergy — those  who  do  their  work  without  getting 
much  pay  for  it,  and  I  don't  think  they  need  feel  ashamed 
of  letting  other  people  give  them  a  helping  hand.  I  should 
like  to  pay  for  your  move  down  here,  if  you'll  let  me.  I 
should  like  to  make  you  a  present  to  help  you  fill  this 
house  a  bit,  if  you  haven't  got  much  furniture.  Let's  shake 
hands  on  it  as  friends,  and  let  me  send  you  down  a  cheque." 

Mr.  Sheard  had  looked  at  him  closely  as  he  spoke,  and 
now  their  eyes  met.  "  I  shall  be  proud  to  shake  hands 


SUNDAY  AFTERNOON  197 

with  you  as  a  friend,  Mr.  Brown/'  he  said.  "  I  shall  value 
your  friendship,  and  you've  made  your  offer  in  such  a 
way  that  I  shouldn't  feel  any  shame  in  accepting  it  if  I 
had  any  need  of  that  sort  of  help.  But  I'm  glad  to  say 
I  haven't.  I  had  a  good  command  in  the  Merchant  Service 
for  a  number  of  years,  and  I  was  able  to  put  something 
by  nearly  every  year.  I've  got  money  in  hand  for  the 
move,  and  the  income  I  shall  have  now  will  enable  me  to 
get  what's  wanted  extra  for  this  fine  house  by  degrees. 
My  wife  will  prefer  to  do  it  in  that  way,  I  know; 
but  she'll  feel  grateful  for  your  kind  offer,  when  I  tell 
her  of  it,  and  I  needn't  say  that  I  feel  the  same." 

"  Well,  I  should  have  liked  to  make  you  a  present," 
said  the  millionaire,  "  but  if  you  won't  take  it,  you  won't. 
But  there's  one  thing  I  hope  you  won't  refuse  me.  Bring 
your  wife,  and  your  son  and  daughter  too,  to  stay  with 
us  while  you're  moving  in.  That  will  put  us  all  right 
together.  We  shall  be  all  alone,  except  for  my  brother 
and  his  wife,  and  you  can  take  us  without  any  ceremony. 
We've  only  just  moved  in  ourselves." 

Mr.  Sheard  provisionally  accepted  this  invitation,  and 
after  some  further  conversation  the  two  men  parted,  liking 
each  other  very  well. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE   ICE   BROKEN 

DOUGLAS  IRVING  was  slightly  disconcerted  by  the  uncere- 
monious way  in  which  Armitage  Brown  had  intimated  that 
he  wished  to  be  left  alone  to  talk  to  Mr.  Sheard.  Alfred 
took  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  was  interested  in  what 
the  request  betokened.  "  The  parson  has  fallen  on  his 
feet,"  he  said,  as  they  walked  away  from  the  rectory 
together.  "  When  my  father  has  taken  a  fancy  to  a  fellow, 
there's  nothing  he's  not  ready  to  do  for  him." 

"  Do  you  think  he's  taken  a  fancy  to  Sheard  ?  "  asked 
Douglas. 

"  Oh,  yes,  it's  clear  enough.  And  he's  the  sort  of  man 
he  likes — plain  and  straightforward  and  rather  rough.  He 
won't  try  to  ingratiate  himself.  Father  hates  to  think 
that  people  are  trying  to  get  something  out  of  him.  They 
never  do  get  much  if  they  try,  though  they  can  get  any- 
thing they  want  if  he  likes  them,  and  they  leave  him  alone." 

Douglas  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  say  what  he 
wanted  to  get  out  of  Armitage  Brown,  but  he  felt  that 
he  had  received  valuable  information  as  to  the  course  of 
conduct  to  be  pursued  with  him.  He  thought  that  he 
himself  was  at  least  as  likable  as  the  new  Rector,  and  as 
for  being  straightforward,  wasn't  he  always  that,  even  if 
he  had  no  natural  quality  of  roughness  ?  " 

"  Sheard  is  certainly  plain  enough,"  he  said.  "  He's 
an  odd  change  here  from  Compton." 

"  He's  quite  a  satisfactory  one,"  said  Alfred.  "  He 
won't  try  to  treat  the  important  family  of  Brown  like 

198 


THE  ICE  BROKEN  199 

dirt  beneath  his  feet.  I  suppose  Compton  put  him  here 
because  he  thought  he'd  suit  us.  Well,  he'll  suit  us  very 
nicely." 

"  Oh,  he'll  suit  us  too/'  Douglas  made  haste  to  reply. 
"  I  wonder  whether  he'll  suit  Meadshire." 

"  I  don't  suppose  Meadshire  bothers  himself  much  about 
the  clergy,  does  he?  It's  more  a  question,  I  should  think, 
how  he'll  suit  Lady  Grace." 

Alfred  had  not  thought  much  about  Lady  Grace  since 
he  had  been  at  Kemsale  last,  but  now  that  he  was  back 
there  again  her  personality  was  constantly  present  to  him. 
It  was  a  fragrant  gentle  influence  that  hung  about  the 
whole  place,  that  made  itself  felt  even  through  the  glaring 
opulence  that  was  the  new  note  of  Kemsale,  now  that  it 
had  once  more  a  living  note  of  its  own.  He  had  talked  to 
Katie,  and  found  that  Katie  had  much  the  same  feeling  about 
her,  which  pleased  him,  and  justified  his  sentiment  for 
a  woman  some  years  older  than  himself.  He  had  now 
brought  in  her  name,  when  mention  of  it  was  scarcely 
called  for,  for  the  pleasure  of  hearing  something  more 
about  her. 

"  Oh,  any  parson  would  suit  Lady  Grace,"  said  Douglas, 
"  if  he  went  about  his  parish  and  the  people  liked  him. 
But  we  shall  see  what  she  says  about  it.  You're  coming 
to  tea,  aren't  you?  " 

After  a  moment's  hesitation,  Alfred  said  that  he  would. 
He  could  not  forever  avoid  meeting  Lady  Grace,  and  he 
wanted  at  least  to  see  whether  she  wished  to  avoid  meet- 
ing him. 

She  was  in  Beatrix's  drawing-room  when  the  two  men 
entered  it,  and  so  was  Katie,  who  was  flushed,  and  not 
altogether  from  the  heat.  Alfred  saw  at  once,  from  the 
appearance  of  all  three  ladies,  that  the  meeting  so  far 
had  not  been  a  brilliant  success. 


200  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

He  was  introduced  to  Grace,  who  bowed  to  him  coldly, 
and  immediately  turned  to  talk  to  Douglas,  explaining 
with  unnecessary  particularity  that  she  had  not  been  able 
to  induce  her  aunt  and  cousins,  who  were  staying  witli 
her,  to  come  out,  because  of  the  heat. 

But  it  was  obviously  impossible  that  conversation  could 
be  carried  on  on  these  lines  for  any  length  of  time,  and 
she  must  have  seen  it,  for  she  next,  not  without  a  plain 
effort,  addressed  a  word  to  Alfred.  It  was  about  the 
weather.  There  seemed  to  be  absolutely  no  other  topic 
possible,  if  she  were  to  keep  him  and  his  sister  at  arm's 
length,  as  she  seemed  to  wish  to  do,  and  yet  not  make 
her  host  and  hostess  too  uncomfortable. 

They  were  uncomfortable  enough  as  it  was,  Beatrix 
talking  to  Katie,  constrainedly,  on  the  sofa,  and  Douglas 
fingering  his  clipped  moustache,  with  a  bewildered  frown. 

But  Alfred  had  the  valuable  gift  of  retaining  a  bright 
calm  in  face  of  an  awkward  situation.  He  smiled  ingen- 
uously. "  I  can't  talk  about  the  heat  to  you,  Lady  Grace," 
he  said.  "  There  are  so  many  other  things  I  want  to  say." 

She  blushed  and  showed  her  confusion,  while  the  others 
held  their  breath  for  what  should  follow.  Then  she  looked 
up,  and  smiled  faintly  in  her  turn,  but  immediately  became 
as  serious  as  before.  "  Yes,  it  is  foolish,"  she  said,  looking 
at  him  and  Katie  in  turn,  "  that  now  we  have  met,  we 
should  not  say  something  of  what  is  in  our  minds.  You 
know,  perhaps,  that  Kemsale  has  been  my  home  all  my 
life,  and  Mrs.  Irving  will  tell  you  how  much  I  have  at 
heart  the  happiness  of  all  the  people  who  live  on  the  place. 
Cannot  either,  or  both,  of  you  persuade  your  father  to 
treat  those  of  them  who  have  been  here  for  so  long  less 
harshly?  Oh,  I  know  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it  all 
now,  except  that  I  am  so  fond  of  the  dear  people  who  are 
going  to  be  turned  out,  that  I  feel  I  must  speak  for  them." 


THE  ICE  BROKEN  201 

She  turned  particularly  to  Katie.  "  You  are  in  the  posi- 
tion here  that  I  used  to  be  in,"  she  said.  "  Surely  you 
can  do  something,  if  you  try.  I  would  have  tried,  when  I 
was  your  age,  and  I  think  my  grandfather  would  have 
listened  to  me.  He  always  did,  though  he  would  never 
have  done  what  is  going  to  be  done  now." 

Poor  little  Katie  was  almost  in  tears.  She  had  very 
little  idea  as  to  what  it  was  all  about,  but  was  greatly 
affected  by  Grace's  emotion,  and  would  have  promised  her 
anything  if  she  had  had  time  to  speak. 

But  it  was  Alfred  who  replied,  immediately.  "  I  am 
quite  sure  my  father  would  be  unwilling  to  act  harshly 
in  any  way,"  he  said.  "  Who  is  going  to  be  turned  out, 
Lady  Grace  ?  " 

"  Why,  everybody,"  she  said,  not  without  indignation. 
"  Even  the  cottagers  have  had  notice,  those  of  them  who 
pay  rent  directly  to  the  estate." 

"  Yes,  they  have  had  notice,  but  Fuller  was  authorized 
to  say  that  the  notice  was  only  a  matter  of  form,  in  the 
great  majority  of  cases.  He  told  me  so  himself." 

"  That's  not  unusual  when  a  property  changes  hands," 
Douglas  put  in. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  she  said,  speaking  more  quietly ;  "  but 
if  it  was  only  a  matter  of  form,  surely  one  would  expect 
that  everything  would  be  settled  as  soon  as  possible,  so 
that  people  who  had  a  right  to  expect  to  stay  on  would 
not  be  kept  in  anxiety.  But  it  is  six  months  now  since 
the  notice  was  given,  and  not  a  word  has  been  said  to 
them  since  as  to  what  is  going  to  happen.  Can  you 
wonder  that  they  are  crying  out,  and  expecting  the  worst 
to  happen?  " 

"  I  don't  quite  know  what  to  say,"  said  Alfred.  "  I 
know  nothing  about  my  father's  plans.  I  have  not  seen 
him  for  six  months  until  a  few  days  ago,  and  he  has  been 


202 

abroad  most  of  the  time  himself.  He  has  been  in  America ; 
he  stayed  on  there  much  longer  than  he  intended,  or  per- 
haps he  would  have  settled  matters  here  before  this.  We 
only  came  down  last  night,  you  know.  I  think  he  won't 
lose  much  time  in  taking  things  in  hand  now  he  is  here." 

"  And  I'm  sure  he  won't  do  anything  unkind,"  added 
Katie.  "  If  you  knew  him,  you  would  know  he  wouldn't." 

Lady  Grace  looked  at  her  more  kindly  than  she  had 
done  before.  "  I  don't  think  you  would,"  she  said.  "  Per- 
haps I  ought  not  to  have  said  what  I  have.  I  suppose 
we  must  just  wait  and  see  what  is  going  to  be  done,  and 
hope  for  the  best." 

"  A  lot  of  people  are  upset,"  said  Beatrix.  "  Douglas 
and  I  have  talked  about  it  sometimes  and  thought  that  it 
might  be  as  well  to  tell  you  of  it " — she  spoke  to  Alfred — 
"  so  that  Mr.  Brown  might  know." 

Douglas  roused  himself.  "  It's  like  this,"  he  said.  "  We 
have  made  friends,  you  and  we,  and  we've  thought  it 
wouldn't  be  friendly  not  to  give  you  the  tip.  From  what 
you  have  told  me  yourself,  your  father  doesn't  know  the 
ways  of  a  country  landlord,  and  he  might  quite  well  make 
mistakes  that  he'd  be  sorry  for  afterwards.  It  has  seemed 
to  be  up  to  us  to  give  you  a  friendly  warning,  if  we  see 
anything  going  wrong." 

"  But  what  is  going  wrong?  "  asked  Alfred.  "  You  said 
yourself  just  now  that  what  has  been  done  isn't  unusual. 
Fuller  told  me  that  he'd  given  just  such  a  warning  as  you 
talk  about,  and  my  father  had  taken  it  much  better  than 
he  had  expected,  and  practically  given  him  a  free  hand 
to  keep  the  tenants  from  worrying.  If  they  are  upset,  as 
you  say — well,  Fuller  can't  have  been  very  successful  with 
them;  I  don't  see  what  blame  lies  with  my  father." 

"Oh,  well — Fuller!"  said  Douglas.  "But  there's  Mrs. 
Fuller. 


THE  ICE  BROKEN  203 

"  We  know  how  kind  Captain  Fuller  is,"  said  Grace. 
"  But  what  he  says  is  very  likely  to  be  upset — afterwards." 

"By  Mrs.  Fuller?"  said  Alfred.  "What  on  earth  has 
she  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  She  is  determined  to  move  into  '  The  Limes,'  "  said 
Beatrix,  "  and  has  made  no  secret  of  it.  She  doesn't 
mind  in  the  least  what  becomes  of  Miss  Merriman." 

"  Dear  Miss  Merriman,  who  has  lived  here  for  more 
than  ten  years,"  Grace  took  it  up,  "  and  has  spent  her  life 
in  being  good  and  kind  to  everybody  about  her.  There  is 
nowhere  else  she  could  go  to  in  Kemsale.  Barton's  Farm 
is  too  far  from  the  village  and  the  church,  and  there  would 
not  be  room  enough  for  her  to  have  the  people  staying 
with  her  that  she  likes  to  have.  If  the  Fullers  go  to  '  The 
Limes  '  she  will  have  to  leave  Kemsale  altogether." 

"  But  Fuller  is  determined  not  to  move  from  Barton's 
Farm,"  said  Alfred.  "  He  said  so  quite  decisively  when 
his  wife  mentioned  it,  the  first  time  I  saw  them  together." 

There  was  a  slight  pause.  "  What  Fuller  eays  quite 
decisively,"  said  Douglas,  "  isn't  always  what  happens  in 
that  amiable  family." 

"  Oh,  well,"  Alfred  said.  "  I'll  certainly  tell  my  father 
what  you  say  about  Miss  Merriman.  If  Fuller  doesn't 
want  to  move,  and  only  wants  stiffening  against  the  lady, 
I  should  think  we  might  be  able  to  manage  as  much  as 
that.  But,  surely,  that's  a  case  that  stands  by  itself,  isn't 
it?  It  isn't  like  the  farming  tenants?  Isn't  it  a  little 
unfair  to  make  my  father  responsible  for  Mrs.  Fuller's 
little  games?  " 

He  looked  straight  at  Grace.  It  was  she  who  had  to 
answer  the  question,  or  evade  it. 

She  dropped  her  eyes.  "  No  one  has  been  inclined  to 
blame  Mr.  Brown  for  anything  that  might  happen  there," 
she  said.  There  had  been  a  slight  emphasis  on  the  "  Mr.," 


204  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

but  she  went  on  quickly,  as  if  she  had  had  something  more 
in  her  mind  that  she  was  unwilling  to  express.  "  I  think 
you  got  to  know  some  of  the  farming  tenants  when  you 
were  down  here  last.  There  are  the  Davises  at  Points 
Farm.  They  have  been  there  for  nearly  two  hundred 
years;  they  look  upon  it  as  their  home,  just  in  the  way 
that  people  like  us  look  upon  the  houses  we  live  in." 

"  I  should  hope  they  wouldn't  have  to  go/'  said  Alfred. 
"  I  don't  see  why  they  should,  if  they  are  the  right  sort 
of  tenant,  and  I  suppose  they  are,  or  they  wouldn't  have 
been  there  so  long." 

When  Alfred  had  been  at  Kemsale  during  the  previous 
autumn  he  had  once  or  twice  motored  Fuller  about  the 
estate,  on  his  agent's  business.  He  had  been  made  very 
welcome  in  snug  farmhouses  by  comfortable  friendly  farm- 
ers' wives,  and  had  carried  away  with  him  the  pleasantest 
recollections  of  their  hospitality,  and  the  general  atmos- 
phere that  surrounded  them.  He  had  not  known,  and  did 
not  know  now,  what  hopes  had  been  founded  upon  his  own 
cheerful  friendliness  in  some  quarters,  nor  of  the  jealousies 
and  fears  aroused  in  the  minds  of  those  whom  he  had  not 
been  taken  to  see.  The  impression  that  had  remained  with 
him  had  been  far  from  that  of  a  whole  community  disturbed 
and  alarmed,  as  this  at  Kemsale  was  now  represented  to 
be.  He  thought  there  must  have  been  influences  at  work 
since,  and  that  the  delay  in  settling  matters,  owing  to  his 
father  having  been  abroad  longer  than  he  had  anticipated, 
would  not  entirely  account  for  it.  He  was  also  inclined 
to  resent,  on  his  father's  behalf,  the  implication  that  be- 
cause under  the  previous  ownership  an  informal  fixity  of 
tenure  had  been  the  tradition  in  certain  cases,  the  new 
owner  was  to  be  considered  bound  by  it.  After  all,  the 
previous  owner  had  played  havoc  with  his  own  fixity  of 
tenure,  and  it  was  on  that  that  the  right  of  others  to  con- 


THE  ICE  BROKEN  205 

sider  their's  permanent  could  only  rest.  He  did  not  resent 
it  as  it  had  been  expressed  by  Grace.  He  liked  her  for 
feeling  as  she  did  about  the  humbler  friends  amongst  whom 
she  had  been  brought  up,  and  for  being  willing  to  fight 
their  battles.  It  was  elsewhere  that  the  source  of  the 
mischief  that  seemed  to  be  in  the  air  was  to  be  sought. 

"  If  there  is  anxiety  amongst  the  tenants/'  he  said,  "  I 
think  that  trouble  must  have  been  made  about  us — about 
my  father — that  isn't  justified;  certainly  by  nothing  that 
he  has  done  yet,  or  as  far  as  I  know  is  likely  to  do.  I 
feel  quite  safe,  Lady  Grace,  in  asking  you  to  hold  over 
your  opinion  for  the  present — about  him,  I  mean.  Every- 
thing will  be  settled  pretty  quickly  now.  And  of  course 
I  shall  tell  him  what  we  have  heard  just  now." 

Grace  was  not  inclined  to  hold  over  her  opinion  about 
Armitage  Brown.  His  high-handed  proceeding  in  the  mat- 
ter that  had  touched  her  personally  had  given  her  an  im- 
pression of  him  that  was  not  altered  by  the  loyalty  of  his 
son  and  daughter.  She  simply  thought  them  mistaken. 
He  might  be  kind  enough  to  them,  and  still  harsh  and 
overbearing  in  his  business  dealings,  as  he  had  already 
shown  himself;  and  the  whole  point  of  the  difficulty  was 
that  the  business  of  a  landed  estate  could  not  be  carried 
on  in  the  impersonal  way  of  other  businesses,  and  that  he 
could  not  be  expected  to  know  that.  But  she  could  do 
no  more  at  present.  She  might  have  done  something  useful 
in  speaking  to  these  young  people  about  it,  or  she  might 
have  done  something  that  would  only  put  his  back  up. 
Time  would  show.  It  was  something  that  they  seemed  to 
be  "  nice  " — much  nicer  than  she  had  thought  possible 
with  such  parentage;  for  their  father  was  what  he  had 
shown  himself,  and  their  mother  seemed  already  to  have 
made  a  close  friend  of  Mrs.  Fuller,  and  was  very  likely 
at  the  bottom  of  the  disturbance  caused  in  the  life  of  dear 


206  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

Miss  Merriman,  whom  she  could  hardly  be  expected  to 
appreciate. 

Beatrix  sent  for  Woozle  and  Jimbo,  as  a  relief  to  the 
situation,  and  they  effected  their  purpose  until  tea  was 
finished,  when  an  adjournment  was  made  to  the  garden. 

Douglas  and  Alfred  detached  themselves  from  the  ladies 
and  children.  "  I  suppose  the  fact  of  the  matter  is,"  said 
Alfred,  when  they  were  out  of  hearing,  "  that  Meadshire 
has  been  stirring  up  discontent.  It's  what  he  seems  to 
be  out  for.  I  think,  as  he's  sold  the  place  and  got  his 
money  for  it,  he  might  leave  us  alone.  I  wish  he'd  go 
away  somewhere  else  and  spend  it." 

"  Oh,  he's  spent  most  of  it  long  ago,"  said  Douglas. 
"  Still,  I'm  bound  to  say  that  I've  never  known  him  stay 
here  for  so  long  together  before.  Poor  Grace  is  doing  her 
best  to  keep  him  in  order.  She  seems  to  be  succeeding 
too.  He  hasn't  had  what  we've  been  accustomed  to  call 
one  of  his  bursts  for  nearly  a  year.  When  he  does  have 
one,  as  I  suppose  he  will  sooner  or  later,  he'll  clear  out, 
and  very  likely  he  won't  come  back  again,  for  some  time 
at  least." 

"  Here  he  is,  by  Jove !  "  added  Douglas,  as  Alfred  was 
just  about  to  speak.  Meadshire's  car  had  slid  up  to  the 
gate  near  which  they  were  strolling.  The  three  ladies 
who  had  been  in  church  that  morning  alighted  from  it, 
and  Meadshire,  after  a  word  of  greeting,  went  to  the  front 
of  the  car  to  make  some  examination  of  the  machinery. 

The  ladies  went  up  the  drive  with  Douglas.  Alfred 
stayed  behind.  He  would  have  it  out  with  the  mischief- 
maker. 

Meadshire's  examination  was  almost  immediately  over. 
He  shut  the  bonnet  of  the  car  and  came  through  the  gate. 
His  face  wore  its  customary  expression  of  careless  good- 
nature, and  did  not  change  when  he  saw  Alfred  standing 


THE  ICE  BROKEN  207 

as  if  to  await  him.  "Hullo,  here's  the  enemy!"  he  said 
lightly.  "Well,  I  hear  you've  begun  to  knock  the  place 
about  already." 

Alfred  was  stung  by  his  manner.  "  We've  done  away 
with  the  beastly  carpet  garden,  if  that's  what  you  mean," 
he  said. 

"  It  ain't  much  loss.  I  wish  I'd  done  it  myself."  He 
had  begun  to  walk  quickly  up  the  drive,  as  if  what  he  had 
said  already  was  all  he  wanted  or  meant  to  say. 

Alfred  did  not  feel  disposed  to  run  after  him.  "  I'd 
like  to  have  a  word  with  you,  Lord  Meadshire,  if  you  can 
spare  me  a  minute,"  he  said,  standing  where  he  was. 

Meadshire  stopped  suddenly,  and  turned  round.  "  Why, 
certainly,"  he  said,  and  waited  for  him  to  speak. 

Alfred  found  some  difficulty  in  beginning,  but  made  a 
plunge  at  it.  "  I  hear  there's  some  uneasiness  amongst 
the  farmers  and  people  as  to  what  my  father  is  going  to 
do  here,"  he  said. 

"  I  hear  the  same,"  said  Meadshire. 

"  I  think  it's  a  pity  that  they  should  be  upset  when 
there's  no  need  for  it." 

"  So  do  I." 

Alfred  stiffened  himself.  "  Well,  isn't  it  you  who's 
upsetting  them  ?  "  he  asked. 

Meadshire's  eyebrows  went  up.  "  I  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  What  on  earth  have  I  got  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  Well,  that's  what  I'd  like  to  know.  My  father  has 
been  abroad  for  nearly  six  months.  Now  he  has  come 
down  here  for  some  weeks,  and  will  be  hard  at  work  get- 
ting affairs  into  order.  I  think  he  might  be  allowed  to 
have  his  chance,  without  having  people  prejudiced  against 
him." 

Meadshire  retained  his  expression  of  innocent  goodwill. 
"  So  do  I,"  he  agreed  heartily,  "  and  if  he  succeeds  in 


208  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

removing  the  general  impression  that  he's  a  precious  hard 
nut  to  crack,  he'll  be  doing  a  good  work." 

Alfred  was  angry,  but  he  did  not  show  it.  "  Who  has 
given  people  that  impression?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  I  should  say  he  had  given  it  himself.  He's 
given  it  to  me,  anyhow." 

"  And  you  have  passed  it  on,  I  believe.  It's  quite  an 
unfair  impression.  I  know  he's  anxious  to  do  well  by  the 
estate,  and  the  people  on  it." 

"  Well,  now,  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  that ;  and 
as  you've  spoken  to  me  first,  and  not  me  to  you,  I'll  make 
a  clean  breast  of  it  to  you.  We've  always  done  well  by 
the  tenants  on  this  place.  I  believe  they'll  tell  you  that 
even  I  have  done  well  by  them,  though  I've  done  devilish 
badly  by  myself.  But  we  needn't  go  into  that.  Now  your 
father  knows  nothing  whatever  about  the  land,  or  what's 
due  to  the  people  on  it.  You'll  agree  to  that,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  don't  agree  to  anything  of  the  sort.  He  knows 
something  about  every  sort  of  business,  and  what  he  doesn't 
know  he'll  pretty  soon  pick  up." 

"  I  dare  say;  but  he  hasn't  picked  it  up  yet.  And  the 
very  word  '  business  '  that  you  use  shows  how  little  you 
know  about  land  yourself." 

"  I  didn't  say  that  I  knew  anything  about  it  myself." 

"  Well,  it's  the  word  he  would  use,  isn't  it?  He's  going 
to  make  all  sorts  of  experiments  here,  and " 

"  I  don't  know  that.  He's  never  said  so  to  me.  Has 
he  to  you?  " 

"  Of  course  he  hasn't,  my  young  friend.  We've  never 
spoken  to  one  another.  But  every  one  knows  it.  Be- 
sides, it's  exactly  what  he  would  do.  He's  a  business  man, 
and  they  always  make  experiments  when  they  buy  land — 
that  sort;  generally  lose  by  them  too." 

"  Let   me    ask    you    plainly    whether    you    have    heard 


THE  ICE  BROKEN  209 

anything  whatever  about  his  intending  to  make  experi- 
ments." 

"  I  tell  you  plainly  that  I've  heard  nothing  else." 

"  I  don't  mean  rumours,  from  people  who  know  nothing 
about  it.  I  ask  you  if  you  have  definite  information." 

"  Where  could  I  get  definite  information  about  your 
father's  plans?  There's  no  smoke  without  some  fire;  and 
what  has  little  Fuller  been  about,  making  all  sorts  of 
inquiries  everywhere?" 

"What  about?" 

"  Why,  about  everything  in  connection  with  farming  that 
he  never  worried  about  before.  It  isn't  his  job." 

"  I  should  have  thought  it  was  his  job.  Then  you've 
nothing  to  go  on  at  all  except  rumour,  and  yet  you've  been 
setting  all  the  tenants  against  my  father." 

"  I  haven't.  I  say  I  haven't.  I've  nothing  to  do  with 
the  tenants  now,  except  that  a  lot  of  them  are  childhood's 
friends  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  They've  always  been 
pleased  to  see  me,  and  they're  pleased  to  see  me  now,  and 
talk  things  over.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  can't  go  and 
see  my  friends  in  their  own  houses,  because  your  father 
has  bought  them  over  their  heads?  Why,  you  might  as 
well  say  I  couldn't  go  and  call  on  my  aunt  in  Portland 
Place  if  I  didn't  know  the  Duke  of  Portland." 

"  Well,  I  see  there's  no  satisfaction  to  be  got  out  of 
you,"  said  Alfred.  "  You've  made  it  plain,  though,  that 
you  are  trying  to  creat  prejudice  against  my  father,  and 
I  think  it's  a  damnably  unfair  thing  to  do.  I'm  glad  I've 
had  the  opportunity  of  saying  so." 

He  moved  away  up  the  drive.  Meadshire  accompanied 
him,  still  apparently  in  high  good  humour.  "  I'm  rather 
inclined  to  like  you,  young  Mr.  Brown,"  he  said,  "  and 
I  don't  in  the  least  mind  you're  speaking  rather  sharply. 
I'll  tell  you  what,  now.  If  your  father  doesn't  turn  out 


210  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

the  nice  old  people  who  have  held  their  farms  under  us 
for  generation  after  generation,  I'll  tell  all  of  'em  that  I 
was  mistaken  in  him." 

Alfred  stopped  again  and  faced  him.  "  That's  very 
generous  of  you,"  he  said.  "  You  throw  them  all  over 
yourself,  you  expect  the  people  who  come  after  you  to  take 
on  all  your  responsibilities  towards  them,  and  yet  you  can't 
wait  to  see  whether  they're  going  to  do  it  or  not.  You 
make  all  the  mischief  you  can,  and  then,  if  everything 
goes  right  after  all,  you're  going  to  say  you've  been  mis- 
taken. Thank  you  for  nothing." 

"  Ah,  now  you  seem  to  me  to  be  speaking  rather  rudely," 
said  Meadshire.  "  Well,  I  think  we  understand  each  other 
on  the  whole,  don't  we?  We'll  talk  of  it  all  again  some 
day  or  other.  I  want  to  have  a  word  with  Beatrix  Irving 
now." 

Alfred  took  Katie  away  as  soon  as  he  could.  The  space 
at  hand  was  too  limited  for  him  and  Meadshire  to  occupy 
it  at  the  same  time.  He  said  nothing  to  his  sister  con- 
cerning the  late  passage-at-arms.  He  had  considerable 
control  over  himself,  this  young  man,  and  a  broad  reservoir 
of  wisdom  on  which  to  draw.  If  trouble  were  to  arise  it 
would  affect  her  more  than  it  would  him,  who  need  not  be 
at  Kemsale  oftener  than  he  wished.  He  was  not  going 
to  make  trouble  for  her. 

He  was  instantly  rewarded  for  his  omission,  for  she 
said  to  him,  as  they  went  down  the  drive  together:  "  Alfred, 
Lady  Grace  is  such  a  dear.  She  was  as  nice  as  possible 
to  me  when  you  had  gone  away  with  Captain  Irving." 

He  laughed  at  her.  "  Do  you  think  it  was  because  I  was 
there,  then,  that  she  wasn't  particularly  nice  before?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  didn't  mean  that.  I  think  it  was  what  you 
said  that  cleared  up  her  doubts  about  us.  Besides,  she 
likes  you." 


THE  ICE  BROKEN  211 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  " 

"  Well,  she  said  that  now  she  had  seen  you  and  me 
she  should  feel  much  happier  about  the  people  who  think 
they  are  going  to  be  turned  out.  Of  course,  they  won't  be 
turned  out,  will  they?  It  was  all  a  mistake  of  hers?  " 

"  I  think  most  of  it  was.  Did  she  seem  as  if  she  wanted 
to  make  friends  with  us  ?  " 

Katie  was  a  little  doubtful  about  this.  "  I  don't  believe 
she  means  to  call  upon  mother,"  she  said.  "  She  didn't 
say  anything  about  it." 

"  Well,  you  see,  that's  rather  a  slap  in  the  face  for  us 
in  itself." 

"  Is  it?  Of  course,  I  know  we're  awfully  rich, and  all  that, 
but  we're  nothing  much  beside  people  like  her,  are  we?  " 

"  I  suppose  she  thinks  so,"  said  Alfred,  "  or  her  brother 
does.  No;  I  don't  believe  she  would.  Well,  if  you  like 
her,  Kate,  and  she  likes  you,  I  hope  you'll  be  friends 
together  some  day.  At  any  rate,  the  ice  is  broken  now." 


CHAPTER  XVII 
EXPERIMENTS 

"BEFORE  we  begin,  Captain  Fuller,  there's  just  one  little 
personal  matter  I  want  to  clear  up." 

It  was  nine  o'clock  on  Monday  morning.  Armitage 
Brown  and  Fuller  were  closeted  together  in  the  room  that 
the  new  owner  of  Kemsale  had  chosen  for  his  business 
room.  He  had  breakfasted  at  eight  o'clock,  an  hour  which 
as  far  as  he  was  concerned  he  did  not  propose  to  give  up 
for  anybody,  though  the  rest  of  the  household  were  at 
liberty  to  breakfast  at  any  later  time  that  suited  them. 
When  the  day  came  he  wanted  to  begin  the  day's  work, 
and  it  was  with  genuine  relief  that  he  had  awoke  on  that 
Monday  morning  to  the  knowledge  that  there  was  work 
to  be  done  here  at  Kemsale,  and  not  a  day  to  be  got 
through  in  idleness,  as  was  too  often  the  case  when  he 
was  at  Cap  Martin. 

Fuller  had  brought  up  his  bag  of  papers.  He  was  rather 
excited  as  to  what  was  to  come.  He  had  worked  hard 
during  the  winter  at  the  task  that  had  been  assigned  him, 
and  was  in  the  mood  of  a  well-prepared  schoolboy  who 
expects  to  do  well  in  an  examination. 

But  a  personal  matter!  What  could  that  be?  His 
half-guilty  feeling  of  having  concealed  his  actual  age  rose 
within  him.  He  wished  he  could  have  demonstrated  how 
competent  he  was  before  any  personal  matter  was  touched 
upon. 

"  This  house  in  the  village — '  The  Limes  ' ;  it  has  always 
been  understood  to  be  the  regular  agent's  house,  I'm  told." 

212 


EXPERIMENTS  213 

Oh,  that  was  it.     Nothing  very  dreadful  there! 

"  It  was,  before  I  came  here,"  said  Fuller.  "  The  agent 
who  preceded  me  was  only  here  a  short  time.  He  was  a 
bachelor  and  preferred  to  live  at  Barton's  Farm,  where  I 
live  now.  When  I  came,  '  The  Limes  '  had  been  lent  for 
a  year  to  an  old  lady  who  was  a  relation  of  Lord  Mead- 
shire's,  and  I  went  to  Barton's  Farm,  where  I've  been 
ever  since." 

"  And  now  you  want  to  get  into  '  The  Limes/  I  under- 
stand." 

"  No,  Mr.  Brown,  I  don't.  It's  too  big  for  me.  I'm 
quite  contented  where  I  am." 

A  faint  smile  came  over  Armitage  Brown's  face.  "  Mrs. 
Fuller  doesn't  seem  contented,"  he  said. 

"You  must  leave  me  to  deal  with  my  wife,  sir.  I've  no 
intention  of  moving,  unless  you  make  a  point  of  it  your- 
self, which  I  hope  you  won't  do." 

His  employer  looked  at  him,  still  with  the  shadow  of 
his  amused  smile.  "  It's  a  good  deal  nearer  here  than  the 
house  you're  in  now,  isn't  it?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  it's  half  a  mile  nearer,  perhaps.  But  I'm  in  the 
estate  office  all  day,  except  when  I'm  out  and  about.  And 
there's  the  telephone  between  this  and  Barton's  Farm,  if 
you  want  me  out  of  office  hours.  I  really  don't  think 
you'd  find  it  any  greater  convenience  to  have  me  at  '  The 
Limes.'  " 

"  My  wife  seems  to  think  it  might  be  more  convenient 
to  have  Mrs.  Fuller  there.  The  ladies  have  struck  up  a 
friendship.  And  Mrs.  Fuller  particularly  wants  to  get 
into  a  more  convenient  house  than  the  one  she's  in  now, 
it  appears." 

Poor  little  Herbert's  face  fell.  He  had  held  out  against 
never-relaxed  pressure  for  six  months,  and  had  not  ex- 
pected the  attack  to  come  from  this  quarter.  But  he  might 


214  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

have  known  that  his  wife  would  leave  no  stone  unturned 
to  get  her  own  way. 

"  I  think  it  would  arouse  a  good  deal  of  feeling  in  the 
place  if  Miss  Merriman  were  to  be  turned  out,"  he  said. 
"  She's  been  there  for  ten  years  or  more;  she's  a  very 
charitable  woman,  and  does  a  deal  of  good  work  in  the 
place.  Pays  a  good  rent  too.  It's  practically  so  much 
extra.  I  doubt  if  I  could  let  Barton's  Farm  for  more  than 
forty  pounds  a  year,  as  it  stands,  without  the  land.  Miss 
Merriman  pays  a  hundred  and  ten  for  '  The  Limes.'  " 

"  The  agents  who  occupied  it  didn't  pay  rent,  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  It  would  be  seventy  or  eighty  pounds  a  year 
loss  to  the  estate." 

"That  practically  comes  out  of  your  pocket,  then?" 

"  I  don't  look  on  it  in  that  way  at  all.  It  suits  me 
much  better  to  live  in  a  smaller  house.  '  The  Limes ' 
would  cost  me  a  lot  more  to  keep  up." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  we've  got  to  consider  the  ladies  in 
these  matters,  eh?  You've  taken  on  more  work,  and  are 
getting  a  higher  income  for  it.  Mrs.  Fuller  thinks 
she  ought  to  benefit  by  that,  I  take  it.  That's  the  idea, 
isn't  it?  " 

This  was  really  beyond  everything.  If  his  wife  had 
made  that  plea  to  Mrs.  Brown,  then  it  absolved  him  from 
the  ungrateful  task  of  shielding  her.  "  The  fact  of  the 
matter  is,"  he  snapped  out,  "  my  wife,  unfortunately,  is  a 
bad  hand  at  managing  an  income.  Living  in  the  way  we 
do,  I've  had  my  work  cut  out  ever  since  I've  been  here  to 
keep  straight;  and  I  haven't  been  able  to  put  by  a  penny. 
I  ought  to  save  money;  it's  for  her  sake  I  ought  to  do  it, 
and  my  daughter's;  and  your  keeping  me  on  here,  which 
I  wasn't  sure  you'd  do,  and  giving  me  another  hundred  a 
year  into  the  bargain — it's  a  chance  that  I'm  not  going  to 


EXPERIMENTS  215 

let  slip.  I  tell  you,  I'm  ashamed  of  myself,  Mr.  Brown, 
at  my  age  and  with  the  luck  I've  had  to  be  in  constant 
work  up  to  a  time  of  life  when  most  men  are  laid  on  the 
shelf — I  was  sixty  at  the  beginning  of  this  year — I'm 
ashamed  of  myself  at  having  done  nothing  to  make  pro- 
vision for  the  future.  I  can  do  it  if  I'm  left  where  I  am. 
I  can't  do  it  if  I've  got  to  waste  money  in  keeping  up  a 
house  bigger  than  I  want." 

He  had  plumped  out  the  devastating  fact  of  his  age, 
but  it  did  not  seem  to  have  given  Armitage  Brown  any 
great  shock  of  surprise.  "I'm  glad  you've  told  me  how 
matters  stand,"  he  said.  "  It  shan't  go  any  further.  And 
I  think  you're  quite  right  to  stay  where  you  are,  under 
the  circumstances.  I'll  put  that  right  too.  I'll  say  it's 
my  wish.  But  I'll  tell  you  what,  Fuller;  we  must  humour 
the  ladies  in  their  fancies,  you  know;  is  there  any  way 
in  which  we  could  make  Barton's  Farm  a  bit  smarter — a 
bigger  drawing-room,  or  a  few  bow-windows,  or  something 
of  that  sort?  It  might  ease  matters,  eh?  By  your  own 
showing  you're  saving  the  estate  seventy  or  eighty  pounds 
a  year  by  living  there.  I'm  quite  ready  to  spend  a  few 
hundreds  on  it,  to  make  it  more  like  a  gentleman's  resi- 
dence, which  I  understand  is  what's  chiefly  wanted." 

Poor  little  Herbert  could  only  stammer  out  his  thanks 
for  this  generous  and  unexpected  alleviation  of  the  troubles 
he  was  bringing  upon  himself.  It  was  another  piece  of 
kindness  from  a  man  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  hard 
and  inconsiderate  in  his  methods.  There  was  growing  up 
in  him  a  strong  feeling  of  gratitude  and  liking  towards  his 
employer.  "  It  certainly  would  do  a  lot  to  make  up  for 
the  disappointment,"  he  said,  "  though  as  far  as  I'm  con- 
cerned the  house  suits  me  very  well  as  it  is,  and  nothing 
is  really  wanted."  , 

"  Well,  you  talk  it  over  with  your  good  lady,  Fuller. 


216  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

Tell  her  I'm  sorry  I  can't  see  my  way  to  turning  out  Miss 
— what's  her  name? — Miss  Merriman,  but  I'm  anxious  to 
do  what  I  can  to  make  your  house  more  what  it  should  be. 
I'll  go  up  to  three  hundred  pounds.  You  can  use  it  as 
you  like.  I've  no  doubt  you'll  get  the  best  results  out  of 
it,  and  improve  the  place  for  later  on." 

"  Oh,  I  shouldn't  want  to  spend  anything  like  as  much 
as  three  hundred.  If  I  were  to  make  the  place  bigger,  I 
should  be  doing  just  what  I  want  to  avoid.  A  bow-window 
to  two  of  the  rooms,  and  a  good  bathroom,  and  one  or 
two  little  conveniences — a  hundred  pounds  would  cover 
it  all." 

"  Well,  spend  what  you  like  up  to  three  hundred.  I 
should  give  her  a  conservatory,  if  you  haven't  got  one. 
Ladies  like  that.  Spend  something  on  decoration ;  they 
like  that  too.  You  might  get  in  some  labour-saving  appli- 
ances— kill  two  birds  with  one  stone,  eh?  Do  it  as  well 
as  you  can;  don't  bother  about  saving  money  within  the 
limit;  I'd  rather  you  spent  more  than  less.  I  mean  that, 
so  don't  go  against  my  wishes.  Well,  now  then,  what  about 
this  dairying  business?  Let's  get  to  work  on  that,  and 
see  if  there's  anything  in  it." 

His  complete  change  of  tone,  and  hitching  of  his  chair 
round  to  his  desk,  shut  off  the  previous  subject  entirely. 
But  the  sense  of  gratitude  and  pleasure  remained  with 
Fuller  throughout  the  long  affair  that  followed.  He  loved 
pottering  about  with  "  improvements."  There  were  many 
that  he  would  always  have  liked  to  make  at  Barton's  Farm, 
if  he  had  had  the  money,  or  the  authorization,  to  do  it. 
He  could  make  them  all  now,  even  the  most  extravagant 
of  them ;  and  he  knew  that  by  making  them  he  could  add 
at  least  another  twenty  pounds  to  the  letable  value  of  the 
house.  And  surely  the  news  that  he  would  have  to  take 
home  would  bring  him  peace  at  last,  and  he  could  go  about 


EXPERIMENTS  £17 

his  work,  which  would  be  much  more  interesting  now  than 
it  had  ever  been,  relieved  of  a  constant  burden. 

For  the  next  hour  the  two  men  stuck  closely  to  the  work 
in  hand.  Armitage  Brown  showed  an  extraordinary  apti- 
tude for  assimilating  the  facts  that  were  put  before  him 
so  abundantly.  Fuller  had  collected  and  collated  every 
sort  of  fact  from  the  material  that  had  been  given  him, 
relevant  and,  as  it  sometimes  seemed,  irrelevant.  And  he 
had  done  what  he  had  not  been  told  to  do — made  journeys 
to  see  things  for  himself,  from  which  he  had  collected  other 
facts,  perhaps  more  important  still,  as  to  practical  working. 
Very  slowly,  during  his  six  months'  work,  he  had  attained 
to  a  grasp  of  his  subject.  But  it  was  nothing  to  the  grasp 
that  Armitage  Brown  attained  during  the  hour  in  which 
he  attacked  the  great  mass  of  figures  and  details  that  were 
put  before  him.  His  eye  for  their  significance  was  won- 
derful. Several  times,  as  he  stood  up  to  his  flood  of  quick 
questions,  Fuller  blessed  his  own  thorough  habit  of  going 
into  everything  that  had  the  slightest  bearing  on  his  sub- 
ject, whether  important  or  not.  Facts  that  he  had  not 
thought  to  be  important  were  proved  to  be  so,  to  the  quick 
and  solid  building  up  of  Armitage  Brown's  knowledge.  He 
had  thought  he  had  left  out  nothing.  He  had  gone  over 
his  lesson  again  and  again,  trying  to  find  gaps  in  his 
knowledge,  and  when  he  had  found  them  filling  them  up 
with  the  same  painstaking  care,  whether  they  were  notice- 
able or  almost  invisible.  But  Armitage  Brown  found  a  few 
further  gaps — not  big  ones — and  gave  him  a  little  more 
research  to  do,  seeing  that  he  made  careful  notes  of  what 
was  wanted.  His  own  grasp  of  exactly  what  was  wanted 
was  masterly.  Fuller  thought  that  if  his  employer  had  had 
to  do  all  by  himself  what  had  taken  him  six  months  of 
careful  work  to  accomplish,  he  would  have  done  it  in  a 
week.  It  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  no  complication 


218  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

through  which  he  could  not  cut  his  way  at  a  stroke,  no  bal- 
ancing of  doubts  that  caused  him  a  moment's  hesitation ; 
and,  in  sum,  that  such  a  man  could  master  any  operation 
that  he  put  his  mind  to,  teach  every  expert  whom  he  might 
employ  how  to  do  his  work  to  the  best  advantage,  and 
run  any  business  in  the  world,  from  land  agency  down- 
wards. 

But  if  the  business  that  he  chose  to  run  happened  actu- 
ally to  have  connection  with  land  agency,  it  might  be  run 
most  efficiently  to  pay,  but  other  considerations  bearing 
upon  it  were  not  likely  to  be  dealt  with  tenderly.  Armitage 
Brown  still  had  something  to  learn  with  regard  to  that 
particular  business.  The  question  was  whether  he  would 
judge  the  lesson  of  enough  importance  to  be  willing  to 
learn  it. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  "  I  think 
I've  got  everything  at  my  fingers'  ends  now,  except  those 
few  little  points  which  you've  made  notes  of,  and  they 
needn't  delay  us  in  setting  to  work." 

Fuller  experienced  a  momentary  tightening  of  the  brain. 
He  had  been  at  full  stretch  for  a  long  hour.  The  work 
seemed  to  have  been  finished  for  the  time  being.  But 
apparently  it  was  only  just  about  to  begin. 

"  What  we  have  to  do  is  to  built  our  factory  as  soon 
as  possible,  and  I  think  we  know  where  to  build  it.  We'll 
go  over  there  this  afternoon  and  have  a  look  at  the  place. 
To-morrow  or  the  next  day  we'll  take  a  run  over  to  Den- 
mark and  get  the  latest  information  we  can.  It  may  save 
time  to  bring  a  man  over  from  there  to  make  our  plans. 
We  shall  have  to  find  one.  We  must  have  the  most  up-to- 
date  building  and  machinery  we  can  get  hold  of.  We  shall 
want  a  manager  too.  There's  a  great  deal  to  do,  but  I've 
nothing  else  important  in  hand  now,  and  I  shall  work  at 
it  myself  for  the  next  few  months,  here  on  the  spot  chiefly. 


EXPERIMENTS  219 

You've  got  the  subject  up  remarkably  well,  Fuller.  I 
don't  think  I've  ever  been  so  well  primed  about  anything, 
or  wasted  less  time  in  getting  at  what  I  wanted  to  know. 
You  shall  have  an  interest  in  the  concern;  that's  only  fair. 
You'll  have  a  good  deal  to  do  with  the  working  of  it. 
But  it's  going  to  be  a  bigger  thing  than  I  thought  it  would. 
I  think  I  see  my  way  now.  The  factory  will  have  to  be 
under  separate  management  altogether.  You  won't  have 
anything  to  do  with  that,  except  that  you'll  know  all  about 
it,  of  course,  so  as  not  to  make  mistakes  at  your  end. 
Now  we'll  go  into  the  question  of  the  farms  that  are  to 
feed  it.  You've  got  a  map  of  the  estate  ?  " 

"  I've  brought  up  a  little  one.  The  25-inch  survey  is 
down  at  the  office." 

"  A  little  one  will  do.  You'd  better  get  me  one  to  hang 
up  here,  by  the  by.  I  shan't  be  in  the  office  much;  I  like 
working  in  my  own  room.  Now  then,  here's  Oldmeadow 
Farm.  Yes,  it's  even  better  than  I  thought.  Here's  the 
spot  for  the  factory — roads  from  every  quarter,  and  within 
a  mile  of  Ganton  Station.  Pretty  clear  land  too ;  the  town 
seems  to  have  spread  the  other  way;  we  might  put  down 
a  line  by  and  by.  Whom  does  the  land  belong  to  between 
this  and  the  station  ?  "  . 

"  It  has  changed  hands  lately.  I  think  Mr.  Clinton,  of 
Kencote,  has  bought  it.  He  runs  up  to  here,  and  here,  I 
know;  a  good  part  of  the  building  in  Ganton  lately  has 
been  done  on  his  land." 

"  Is  he  a  go-ahead  landlord  ?  He  owns  a  large  property, 
doesn't  he?  " 

"  Yes;  he's  one  of  the  biggest  landowners  in  South 
Meadshire.  They  say  that  Kencote  has  been  in  his  family 
for  over  five  hundred  years ;  but  I  fancy  most  of  this  land 
about  Ganton  has  been  bought  or  come  in  to  his  estate  in 
his  lifetime.  He's  a  rich  man,  I  believe.  His  son,  Captain 


220  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

Clinton,  looks  after  the  property  now;  looks  after  it  very 
well,  I  believe.  But  I  don't  know  whether  you'd  call  him 
go-ahead  exactly." 

"  I  see.  Well,  we'll  bear  in  mind  the  question  of  a  line 
of  rail,  and  see  about  it  before  the  land  gets  built  over. 
It  looks  to  me  as  if  we  were  just  in  time.  I  don't  think 
we  could  hit  on  a  better  spot  than  this  for  the  factory. 
It  seems  to  answer  all  requirements.  What  do  you  think?  " 

"  It's  right  on  the  edge  of  the  estate.  Half  the  roads 
go  off  on  to  other  properties,  as  you  see." 

"  Oh,  but  that  doesn't  matter.  We  shan't  want  to  keep 
the  factory  only  for  our  own  farms.  You'll  see  how  the 
rest  will  come  in  when  we've  shown  them  the  way.  We 
shall  tap  miles  of  country  by  cart  and  motor-traffic,  and  I 
dare  say  the  rail  will  feed  us  later  on.  Three  lines  run- 
ning from  Ganton,  look.  We're  very  lucky  to  run  up  so 
close  to  a  terminus.  I  had  a  sort  of  idea  it  would  come 
in  useful  when  I  bought  this  place.  I  wish  I'd  known 
about  that  strip  of  land,  though,  in  time.  I  wonder  whether 
Mr.  Clinton  would  sell." 

"  I  should  think  it's  quite  possible  he  might,  at  a  profit. 
He  has  never  cared  much  about  town  property.  I  fancy 
he  only  bought  this  to  save  some  of  it  from  being  built 
over.  He  has  a  very  good  house — here;  Chequers  it's 
called.  It's  let  now,  but  the  idea  is  that  he'll  leave  it  to 
one  of  his  sons." 

Armitage  Brown  laughed.  "  Bought  it  to  stop  its  being 
built  over !  "  he  echoed.  "  That  doesn't  look  like  being 
up-to-date.  However,  the  bit  I  should  want  lies  at  the 
other  end.  We'll  see  about  it  when  the  time  comes.  Well, 
then,  there's  Oldmeadow.  That's  practically  a  dairy  farm 
already,  I  understand.  Supplies  Ganton,  I  suppose.  What 
sort  of  a  man  is  the  tenant?  " 

After  some  discussion  it  was  accepted  that  he  was  the 


EXPERIMENTS  221 

right  sort  of  man  on  the  whole,  not  likely  to  be  averse  to 
developing  his  dairying  on  lines  that  would  be  explained 
to  him,  or  holding  his  land  with  some  alterations  and  com- 
pensations then  and  there  arranged  and  noted. 

"  These  are  the  farms  we'll  start  on,"  said  Armitage 
Brown,  drawing  the  butt  of  his  pencil  round  half  a  dozen 
holdings,  mostly  of  respectable  size,  on  that  part  of  the 
map  towards  the  town  of  Ganton.  "  They  have  the  most 
pasturage,  and  they  are  nearest  to  where  the  factory 
will  be." 

He  seemed  to  Fuller  to  be  going  very  fast.  "  Isn't  that 
a  big  acreage  to  start  with?  "  he  asked,  "  with  all  the  alter- 
ations to  farm  buildings  that  we've  discussed,  and " 

"  I  believe  in  starting  things  in  a  big  way  when  you've 
made  sure  of  your  ground,  and  know  exactly  what  you 
want  to  do,  and  how  you  are  going  to  do  it.  It's  the  only 
way  to  make  them  pay.  And  I  don't  call  this  a  big  way. 
It's  only  because  I  don't  yet  know  enough  about  the  dif- 
ficulty or  otherwise  of  making  the  changes  in  the  farms 
that  I'm  taking  only  these  to  start  with.  Here's  Points 
Farm  now.  Let's  go  into  that,  as  an  instance.  How  much 
of  this  arable  land  can  be  profitably  laid  down  in  pasture? 
When  we've  settled  that  we'll  talk  about  whether  the  pres- 
ent tenant  is  the  right  man  to  take  up  a  new  idea.  We 
must  treat  each  holding  in  the  same  way,  but  of  course  I 
must  go  and  see  all  the  country  for  myself  before  I  can 
get  a  real  hold  of  the  question.  One  of  these  farms  I 
shall  certainly  cut  up,  so  as  to  give  the  small  men  a 
chance.  We  shall  have  to  settle  which.  But  take  Points 
Farm  first." 

Points  Farm  was  the  one  about  which  Grace  had  spe- 
cially spoken  to  Kate  and  Alfred.  Armitage  Brown  had 
had  the  conversation  and  that  of  Alfred  with  Meadshire 
repeated  to  him.  Did  he  remember  the  half-hereditary 


222  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

basis  upon  which  Points  was  held,  or  was  it  just  chance 
that  had  led  him  to  hit  upon  it  for  examination  now  ?  Ful- 
ler collected  himself  to  present  his  report.  Out  of  these 
half-dozen  farms  that  were  to  be  subject  to  the  experi- 
ments, Points  would  be  the  one  upon  which  the  diffi- 
culties that  had  so  far  been  ignored  would  concentrate 
themselves. 

"  Points  Farm  has  been  held  by  the  family  of  Davis 
from  father  to  son  since  the  year  1746,"  said  Fuller.  "  I've 
looked  up  its  history  in  old  estate  books  and  papers.  The 
house,  which  is  called  Points  Manor,  was  built  for  the  first 
Davis  who  took  the  farm.  It's  a  fine  one,  and  in  the  best 
days  of  farming  they  seem  to  have  lived  there  like  gentle- 
folk. Well,  they're  that  now,  though  they  don't  grow  rich 
on  it  any  more,  and  their  way  of  living  isn't  much  different 
from  that  of  the  other  farmers." 

"  You're  rather  putting  the  cart  before  the  horse," 
Armitage  Brown  interrupted  him.  "  I  want  to  know  about 
the  proportion  of  pasture  and  arable  land  first." 

"  Well,  it  rather  hangs  on  the  history  of  the  tenants. 
When  wheat  was  at  its  highest  a  good  deal  of  pasture 
was  cut  up.  It  seems  actually  to  have  been  a  dairy  farm, 
chiefly,  before  that,  and  as  you  can  see  by  the  map  it  lies 
in  the  middle  of  the  largest  stretch  of  grass  country  that 
there  is  on  the  estate.  There's  no  doubt,  leaving  the 
tenants  out  of  account  for  the  moment,  that  very  nearly 
the  whole  of  Points  could  be  profitably  laid  down  in  pas- 
ture again.  The  land  is  mostly  flat,  and  well  watered.  I'm 
bound  to  say  that  for  your  scheme  Points  is  the  best  of  the 
holdings  you  could  take — I  mean  of  the  larger  ones  where 
a  great  many  changes  will  have  to  be  made." 

"  Well,  that's  satisfactory.  Perhaps  it  would  be  a  good 
farm  to  break  up.  But  let's  hear  about  the  tenants  first. 
Why  did  you  say  that  breaking  up  the  pasture  had  to  do 


EXPERIMENTS  22S 

with  them  particularly?  Wasn't  it  done  all  over  the  place 
at  the  time  you  mention?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  done  a  great  deal.  But  the  Davises  did 
it  on  a  big  scale,  and  grew  rich  on  it.  They're  not  rich 
any  longer,  as  I  say,  but  they've  kept  up  a  tradition  about 
it.  There's  always  been  more  wheat  grown  at  Points  than 
anywhere  else  on  the  property — anywhere  else  in  Mead- 
shire,  I  believe.  There's  a  Davis  a  corn  factor  in  Ganton, 
from  the  same  family — a  very  old  business  it  is,  and  used 
to  be  a  very  big  one." 

"  What's  that  got  to  do  with  the  farm?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all.  But  it's  the  tradition  in  the  family, 
you  see.  They've  kept  it  up." 

Armitage  Brown  considered  for  a  moment,  his  face  show- 
ing some  vexation.  "What  age  is  the  present  man?"  he 
asked  shortly.  "And  has  he  any  sons?  " 

"  George  Davis  is  getting  on  for  seventy,  I  should  say. 
Yes,  he  has  sons.  The  eldest  works  the  farm  with  him, 
as  their  eldest  sons  always  do.  Another's  a  clergyman. 
Two  more  are  in  business  in  London." 

"  Well,  I  see  what  all  this  comes  to,"  said  Armitage 
Brown  after  another  short  pause.  "  It  means  that  with 
land  that  belongs  to  me,  land  that  I've  bought  as  an 
investment,  and  have  as  much  right  to  use  in  the  way  that 
will  bring  me  in  the  best  return  as  if  it  were  any  other 
commodity,  I'm  to  be  prevented  from  doing  what  I  please 
by  considerations  that  wouldn't  arise  in  any  other  form 
of  property  in  the  world.  What  tenure  have  these  people 
held  their  farm  on  ?  " 

"  Always  on  a  yearly  tenancy.  There  has  been  a  pride 
on  both  sides  that  they  have  never  had  more  hold  on  it 
than  that." 

"  Yes,  very  creditable,  I  dare  say,  when  land  ownership 
has  been  carried  on  as  a  sort  of  game,  as  it  seems  to  have 


224  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

been  here.  I'm  not  going  to  carry  it  on  in  that  way,  and 
I  don't  care  if  it  brings  me  up  against  every  old-fashioned 
landowner  in  the  district.  How  long  has  Lord  Meadshire 
been  going  about  trying  to  make  mischief  amongst  the  ten- 
ants against  me?  " 

The  sharp  questions  at  the  end  of  speeches  of  comment 
were  beginning.  Fuller  roused  himself  to  meet  them  as 
they  came. 

"  I'm  afraid  he  has  been  making  mischief,"  he  said.  "  I 
hope  you'll  believe  me  when  I  say  that  I've  been  uncom- 
monly careful  not  to  let  out  anything  that  we've  been  talk- 
ing about.  I've  worked  at  the  statistics  I've  got  together 
for  you  in  my  room  at  the  office,  and  sometimes  at  home, 
in  my  den,  at  night,  and  I've  always  locked  the  books  and 
papers  away,  so  that  nobody  should  get  wind  of  anything." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Fuller,  I  don't  think  anything  has  got  about 
through  you.  I  satisfied  myself  of  that.  My  boy,  Alfred, 
tackled  his  lordship  yesterday  about  making  mischief,  and 
he  couldn't  give  any  grounds  for  it,  except  that  these 
notices  had  been  hanging  about  longer  than  I  intended. 
I'm  going  to  make  experiments  because  it's  what  I  should 
do,  being  what  I  am;  I'm  going  to  turn  out  everybody, 
it  seems,  and  they're  all  up  in  arms  against  me.  Is  that 
true  ?  " 

"  Well,  there's  a  good  deal  of  unrest.  I've  tried  to  keep 
it  down,  but  Lord  Meadshire  has  tried  to  keep  it  up.  I've 
no  hesitation  in  saying  so,  and  I've  spoken  to  him  about 
it,  but  you  might  as  well  speak  to  a  weather-cock.  Of 
course  the  people  like  him.  They've  known  him  since  he 
was  a  boy,  and  he  has  a  pleasant  way  with  him.  And 
they've  never  suffered  from  his  spending  money  as  he 
has.  The  estate  has  been  the  one  thing  he  hasn't  bled. 
When  his  difficulties  got  too  big  for  him  he  sold  it." 

"  Yes,  and  he  sold  it  to  me,  and  I  paid  him  a  higher 


EXPERIMENTS  225 

price  than  I  need  have  done,  because  I  never  bargain 
beyond  a  certain  point.  What  right  has  he,  I  should  like 
to  know,  to  behave  as  if  he  were  still  master  here,  after 
taking  my  money  ?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  say  he  behaved  as  if  he  was  master.  But 
he's  making  trouble  with  the  tenants,  and  if  you  hadn't 
heard  about  it  already,  I  should  have  told  you.  I  served 
him  loyally  when  he  owned  Kemsale,  but  I'm  not  going 
to  stand  by  and  see  him  making  mischief  when  he  ought 
to  keep  clear  of  the  place  altogether." 

"  Well,  we  won't  waste  time  in  discussing  him.  If  he 
goes  too  far,  he'll  find  that  I'm  a  pretty  good  fighter,  and 
he  may  come  to  feel  sorry  for  interfering.  In  the  mean- 
time you  can  tell  him  this,  Fuller.  I've  every  disposition 
to  treat  the  old  tenants  on  the  place  well,  but  I've  no  inten- 
tion of  binding  myself  by  his  rules.  If  he  likes  to  stir 
them  up  against  me  he'll  be  doing  them  the  worst  disservice. 
It  ought  not  to  be  difficult  to  see  that.  I  shouldn't  have 
any  qualms  about  getting  rid  of  anybody  who  was  really 
set  against  me,  if  it  suited  me  to  do  so  otherwise.  If  they 
are  well-disposed  I  should  think  twice  about  it.  Now  as 
to  this  man,  Davis,  at  Points.  It's  a  difficult  question,  and 
if  Lord  Meadshire  has  been  interfering  there  it  won't 
have  made  it  any  easier.  And  yet  it's  not  so  difficult  if  it's 
looked  at  squarely.  All  that  you've  told  me  about  the 
family  growing  wheat  as  a  tradition  strikes  me  as  simply 
childish,  and  no  man  in  his  senses  would  expect  a  new 
owner  to  consider  that  for  a  moment.  But  I'm  ready  to 
consider  their  long  tenancy,  and  in  my  view  that's  a  big 
concession,  because  Points  is  the  farm  that  I  should  prefer 
to  cut  up,  for  one  thing,  and  if  I  didn't  I'd  rather  have  a 
younger  man  there,  and  one  who  was  less  likely  to  be 
prejudiced  against  a  new  departure.  I'll  stand  a  certain 
amount  of  gambling  and  difficulty  from  this  Mr.  Davis,  but 


226  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

I  won't  stand  more  than  a  certain  amount.  If  he  wants  to 
keep  on  where  he  and  his  family  have  always  lived  he'll 
have  the  chance  to  do  so,  and  I  shan't,  expect  too  much 
from  an  old  man.  But  he'll  have  to  give  up  his  wheat  and 
take  to  dairying,  which,  after  all,  as  you've  told  me,  his 
own  forbears  used  to  carry  on.  That's  the  long  and  the 
short  of  it.  If  he  likes  to  do  that  he'll  have  all  the  help 
we  can  give  him,  and  he  can  stay  on  at  Points  as  long 
as  he  lives,  and  his  son  can  stay  on  after  him.  If  he's 
fool  enough  to  stand  out  against  the  challenge,  he  can  go. 
It  will  be  his  choice  and  not  mine." 

"  That's  fair  enough,"  said  Fuller.  "  And  if  you're 
ready  to  make  allowances  for  the  old  fellow's  grumbling 
a  bit  at  the  change,  I  dare  say  Points  will  settle  itself 
quite  comfortably.  The  son  is  sensible,  and  well-educated 
too.  He  may  take  to  the  idea  quite  kindly.  Do  you  want 
me  to  talk  to  them  about  it  now,  and  to  the  other  tenants? 
We  shall  have  to  tackle  them  all  separately." 

"  I  want  you  to  come  round  with  me  and  introduce  me 
to  them.  I'll  talk  to  them  all  myself.  We'll  go  to  Points 
this  afternoon." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

PERSUASION 

THE  two  men  set  out  early  in  the  afternoon  on  their  tour 
of  inspection.  The  road  to  Ganton  kept  for  two  or  three 
miles  upon  the  level  on  which  Kemsale  was  situated,  and 
showed  wide  views  of  the  country  beneath  it.  Then  it 
wound  round  in  a  northward  curve,  always  dropping  a  little 
until  the  hill  jlied  away  gently  down  to  the  wide  gap  where 
Ganton  was  situated,  upon  the  other  side  of  which  the 
hills  rose  again.  Through  this  gap  flowed  a  respectable 
river;  broad  high  roads  from  the  three  valleys  centred  in 
the  town,  and  along  each  of  the  valleys  ran  a  line  of  rail. 
Several  times  the  car  was  stopped  at  a  vantage  point 
from  which  wide  stretches  of  country  could  be  seen,  and 
the  owner  of  a  great  part  of  it  studied  it  eagerly,  his  mind 
now  firmly  set  upon  his  scheme,  in  which  his  agent  was 
also  becoming  more  and  a  ore  interested.  It  was  inspiring 
to  go  into  an  affair  with  such  a  man  as  this,  for  whom  diffi- 
culties existed  only  to  be  overcome,  and  who  impressed  one 
with  the  conviction  that  anything  he  undertook  he  would 
carry  on  to  success.  It  was  gratifying  too  to  feel  that  there 
was  money  behind  it  all,  as  much  money  as  would  be  needed 
to  start  everything  on  a  handsome  scale;  so  much  of  this 
particular  agent's  work,  as  of  many  others,  having  been 
directed  towards  husbanding  money  everywhere.  Armitage 
Brown  had  made  it  quite  clear  that  his  way  would  be  not 
to  spare  money  on  the  first  outlay.  The  profusion  with 
which  it  would  be  supplied  was  expected,  as  it  seemed,  to 
mark  the  measure  by  which  it  would  be  returned  later  on. 

227 


228  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

There  was  a  largeness  about  his  ideas  that  gave  confidence, 
which  was  increased  by  the  conviction  that  he  knew  very 
well  what  he  was  about,  and  that  his  agent  need  have  no 
fears  in  suggesting  expenditure. 

Where  the  road  began  to  bend  round  the  spur  of  the 
hill,  and  the  land  upon  which  the  experiment  was  first 
to  be  tried  came  into  view,  they  got  out  of  the  car,  and 
stood  for  some  time  leaning  over  a  gate  by  the  side  of  the 
road.  Armitage  Brown  had  never  leaned  over  a  gate  in  his 
life  before.  It  was  an  initiation. 

"  I  haven't  an  eye  for  land,"  he  said — "not  yet,  though 
I  think  I  shall  get  it;  but  it  does  look  to  me  as  if  this  was 
a  natural  grass  country.  The  grass  that  is  there  seems  to 
be  the  right  thing,  somehow,  with  all  those  brooks  and 
willows,  and  I  don't  see  that  any  of  those  big  ploughed 
fields  that  cut  into  it  have  any  particular  reason  to  be 
there." 

"  There's  a  great  deal  more  grassland  on  the  other  side 
of  the  hill,  all  round  Kencote,"  said  Fuller.  "  We  might 
go  round  that  way  if  there's  time  when  we  come  back;  I 
should  like  you  to  see  it.  It's  just  the  same  sort  of  country 
as  this,  but  it  hasn't  been  cut  up  nearly  so  much." 

"Kencote!  That's  Mr.  Clinton's  land,  isn't  it?  Does 
he  go  in  for  dairying?  " 

"  No ;  more  for  stock,  I  think.  He  has  a  fine  herd  of 
Herefords  on  his  home  farm.  They've  only  been  going 
in  for  them  for  a  few  years,  but  they've  won  a  lot  of 
prizes.  It  has  been  Captain  Clinton's  hobby,  I  fancy." 

"  Well,  that  sounds  as  if  they  aren't  altogether  asleep. 
Are  Herefords  good  milking  cattle  ?  " 

"  No ;    they're  more  for  fattening." 

"  I  shall  learn  all  about  these  things  by  and  by.  It 
seems  to  me  there's  a  great  deal  to  learn,  Fuller,  and  a 
great  deal  to  interest  one.  I  must  get  hold  of  books,  and 


PERSUASION  229 

I  must  talk  to  people.     Well,  we  had  better  be  getting 
on." 

He  still  lingered  a  moment,  leaning  over  the  top  bar  of 
the  gate.  "  I  shall  come  and  look  at  this  again  from  here, 
when  most  of  it's  laid  down  in  grass/'  he  said  as  he 
moved  away. 

"  There's  one  thing/'  said  Fuller,  as  they  were  getting 
into  the  car,  "  Kemsale  will  be  popular  with  the  hunting 
people,  if  it  gives  them  several  more  miles  of  grass  instead 
of  plough." 

Armitage  Brown  settled  himself  in  his  seat.  "  You  don't 
suppose  I'm  going  to  have  the  hunting  people  galloping 
about  amongst  my  dairy  cows,  do  you?  "  he  asked. 

It  was  a  dreadful  question.  Fuller  made  no  attempt  to 
answer  it,  but  remained  very  quiet  until  they  came  to  the 
proposed  site  of  the  factory. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  they  arrived  at  Points  Manor. 
It  was  a  sweet  mellowed  old  house,  with  few  signs  of  the 
farm  about  it.  It  stood  near  the  road;  a  gate  of  wrought 
iron  between  high  pillars  of  red  brick  led  through  a  garden- 
court  to  the  front  porch,  and  another  gate,  at  the  side,  to 
the  stable-yard.  Beyond  that  there  was  a  walled  kitchen 
garden,  and  then  an  orchard,  and  the  farm  buildings  were 
separated  from  the  house  by  the  width  of  those  amenities. 
It  was,  as  Fuller  had  indicated,  a  gentleman's  house,  but 
the  iron  gate  was  padlocked,  and  the  bricks  of  the  garden 
paths  wanted  weeding.  They  entered  by  a  side  door  leading 
into  the  yard. 

They  were  shown  into  a  charming  faded  old-fashioned 
drawing-room,  which  looked  as  if  it  were  little  used,  and 
smelt  a  little  damp,  the  front  of  the  house  facing  north. 
Here  they  were  joined  by  Mrs.  Davis,  who  showed  some 
nervousness  on  her  introduction  to  her  husband's  new  land- 
lord. She  was  a  thin  elderly  lady,  with  a  refined  face; 


230  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

she  wore  a  cap  on  her  grey  hair  and  a  collar  of  old  lace 
over  her  black  gown.  She  had  already  sent  for  her  husband 
and  her  eldest  son,  she  told  them. 

"  You  have  a  very  nice  house  here,  Mrs.  Davis,"  said 
Armitage  Brown,  as  she  begged  them  to  be  seated,  and 
took  a  chair  herself. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  We  are  the  fifth  generation  of 
Davises  to  live  in  it.  We  did  hope,  my  husband  and  I, 
that  we  should  end  our  days  here." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  will,  Mrs.  Davis ;  I  hope  you  will. 
I  have  come  here  to  talk  over  matters  with  your  husband. 
I've  left  it  a  good  deal  longer  than  I  intended  to,  but  I 
only  came  down  on  Saturday  afternoon,  so  I've  lost  no 
time  now  I  am  here,  you  see." 

Fuller  thought  that  his  kindly  encouraging  tone  was 
admirable.  No  country  landholder,  born  and  bred  to  the 
game,  could  have  bettered  it.  He  was  beginning  to  think 
that  he  need  have  worried  himself  much  less  than  he  had 
done  about  his  employer's  willingness  to  take  the  personal 
factors  of  landowning  into  account.  The  thought  crossed 
his  mind,  as  he  saw  Mrs.  Davis's  rather  melancholy  face 
brighten  at  this  speech,  that  personal  factors  existed  in 
every  kind  of  business,  and  that  Armitage  Brown  would 
not  have  had  the  success  that  was  his  unless  he  had  known 
how  to  deal  with  men.  He  felt  some  interest  in  sitting  by 
and  seeing  how  he  would  deal  by  himself  with  the  situation 
here. 

He  seemed,  at  any  rate,  to  know  exactly  how  to  deal  with 
Mrs.  Davis,  who  talked  to  him  quite  freely  during  the  ten 
minutes  or  so  that  elapsed  before  her  husband  and  son 
came  into  the  room.  Nothing  more  was  said  about  the 
future,  which  was  somewhat  of  a  triumph  in  itself;  for  it 
had  seemed  as  if  the  poor  quiet  lady  had  girded  herself 
to  talk  about  nothing  else,  and  to  exercise  whatever  small 


PERSUASION  2S1 

power  she  might  possess  to  avert  the  stroke  that  was  hang- 
ing over  her  home.  She  could  not,  perhaps,  have  been 
directed  from  her  intention  by  an  obvious  avoidance  of  the 
subject;  but  she  was  encouraged  to  talk  about  the  Davis 
forbears,  and  their  connection  with  Points,  which  had  so 
important  a  bearing  upon  the  question  that  she  probably 
never  realised  that  its  application  was  avoided  altogether. 

Mr.  Davis  and  his  son  came  in  together.  They  were  a 
striking-looking  pair.  The  old  man — very  tall  and  very 
upright,  white-haired,  clean-shaven  except  for  a  clipped 
moustache,  dressed  in  well-cut  homespun,  gaitered — would 
have  been  a  king  of  the  soil  in  any  new  country,  where 
men  who  work  the  land  own  it.  This  idea  came  to  Armitage 
Brown,  who  had  lately  been  in  Canada  as  well  as  the  States, 
as  he  shook  hands  with  him.  And  his  son,  who  was  past 
his  first  youth,  was  like  him,  with  the  same  strong  well- 
knit  frame,  and  the  same  quiet  air  of  dignity.  Their 
greeting  was  courteous,  but  unsmiling.  It  showed  watch- 
fulness, perhaps  to  the  extent  of  suspicion,  if  not  hostility. 

"  I  have  been  telling  Mr.  Brown  all  about  the  long  line 
of  Davises  that  have  lived  in  this  house  ever  since  it  was 
built,  and  he  has  very  kindly  said  that  we  are  mistaken  in 
having  supposed  that  it  was  his  wish  to  bring  it  to  an  end.' 

It  was  an  attempt,  not  without  pathos  in  the  way  in  which 
the  statement  was  delivered,  to  gain  an  advantage  at  the 
start,  or  to  show  that  the  advantage  had  already  been 
gained.  Fuller,  somewhat  taken  aback  by  its  hardly  justi- 
fied terms,  wondered  whether  they  would  be  corrected. 

But  they  seemed  to  be  accepted  without  question, 
should  be  very  sorry  to  bring  such  a  line  to  an  end,"  Armi- 
tage Brown  said  at  once,  "  especially  now  I  have  seen  the 
promise  it  shows  of  going  on."  He  looked  towards  the 
younger  man,  who  dropped  his  eyes,  and  did  not  smile. 
The  watchfulness  was  not  to  be  allayed  by  a  graceful  word, 


232 

although  if  he  had  known  how  little  graceful  words  were 
in  the  speaker's  way,  when  he  was  intent  upon  negotiations, 
he  might  have  wondered  what  this  one  betokened. 

The  old  man,  slow  of  speech,  and  perhaps,  in  some 
respects,  of  understanding,  met  the  advance  more  readily. 
"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that,"  he  said.  "  It  would  be 
a  sad  thing  to  be  turned  out  of  this,  after  so  many  years, 
and  for  no  fault  committed." 

It  would  not  have  been  easy  to  embark  upon  the  neces- 
sary discussion  without  first  destroying  the  large  assump- 
tions that  lay  under  this  simple  speech.  But  Mrs.  Davis 
put  in  a  word. 

"  I  told  Mr.  Brown,"  she  said,  "  how  very  anxious  we 
have  been  for  the  past  six  months.  But  he  has  very  kindly 
explained  that  he  was  unable  to  avoid  the  delay,  and  has 
come  to  us  at  the  first  possible  moment  to  settle  everything." 

"  Yes,"  said  Armitage  Brown,  "  there  is  a  great  deal 
to  be  settled  when  a  property  as  large  as  this  changes 
hands.  A  new  owner  isn't  to  be  expected,  naturally,  to 
carry  on  everything  in  the  same  way  as  the  old  owners, 
but  that  isn't  to  say  that  he  wants  to  upset  things  for 
the  sake  of  upsetting  them.  I  certainly  don't  want  to  do 
that.  I  want  to  carry  the  people  who  have  been  settled 
on  the  land  here  with  me,  as  far  as  they  are  ready  to  go, 
and  that's  why  I  have  left  the  re-arrangements  that  I  am 
going  to  make  until  I  could  come  and  talk  them  over  with 
them  myself." 

The  old  man  spoke,  after  a  pause  that  made  speech  from 
the  other  side  necessary.  "  A  great  deal  has  been  said 
lately  about  experiments  on  the  land  that  has  upset  peo- 
ple," he  said  slowly.  "  I  should  be  glad  to  know  that 
there's  no  fear  of  that." 

"  Who  has  it  been  said  by,  Mr.  Davis  ?  " 

"  It  has  been  the  general  talk  all  over  the  estate." 


PERSUASION  233 

"  But  who  started  it?  I  didn't,  you  know,  and  I'm  the 
only  person  who  knows  what  is  in  my  own  mind  about 
the  estate,  unless  it  is  Captain  Fuller,  and  I  don't  think 
he  started  it,  did  he?  " 

"  No ;  Captain  Fuller  has  always  said  that  if  we  would 
wait  till  you  came  back  from  abroad  we  should  find  we 
had  been  worrying  ourselves  about  nothing." 

"  Well,  you  haven't  chosen  to  believe  him,  apparently. 
And  yet  he's  my  agent,  and  the  only  man  who  could  speak 
with  any  authority  about  me.  Who  have  you  chosen  to 
believe  instead  ?  " 

"  It  has  been  said  constantly  all  over  the  estate  that 
there  would  be  experiments  tried  that  wouldn't  do  us  any 
good,  and  that  if  we  didn't  choose  to  fall  in  with  them, 
and  give  up  all  that  our  experience  has  taught  us,  we  should 
be  turned  out  neck  and  crop." 

Fuller  noticed  the  flash  of  annoyance  that  passed  over 
Armitage  Brown's  face.  John  Davis,  the  younger,  prob- 
ably noticed  it  too,  although  it  was  gone  in  a  moment. 
He  spoke  for  the  first  time.  "  It  wouldn't  be  fair  to  go  by 
rumour,  not  based  upon  anything,"  he  said.  "  It  was  his 
lordship  who  told  us  we  must  look  out  for  trouble." 

Armitage  Brown  turned  to  him  quickly.  "  So  I  under- 
stand," he  said.  "  And  I  should  like  to  ask  you  whether 
you  think  it  is  likely  that  I  should  have  spoken  about  my 
plans  to  his  lordship?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  he  ever  said  more  than  that  it  was 
likely  to  happen,  sir." 

"  Why  should  he  have  said  as  much  as  that?  He  knows 
nothing  about  it.  I've  never  spoken  to  him.  Until  yester- 
day in  church  I  never  set  eyes  on  him.  The  fact  is,  his 
lordship  has  been  tryjng  to  raise  up  prejudice  against  me, 
and  if  you  talk  about  fairness,  I  should  like  to  ask  you 
whether  you  think  that  is  fair.  I've  bought  Kemsale  from 


234  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

him,  you  know,  and  paid  him  a  very  big  price  for  it.  He's 
had  his  money,  and  has  got  rid  of  all  his  responsibilities. 
I've  taken  them  on.  Don't  you  think  he  ought  to  have 
been  careful  not  to  make  difficulties  for  me  over  them  ?  " 

"If  it's  not  true  that  experiments  are  going  to  be  tried 
on  the  land,  I  don't  think  he  ought  to  have  said  so,"  said 
John  Davis  unwillingly. 

But  even  this  admission  was  too  much  for  his  father. 
"  His  lordship,  you  might  say,  is  a  friend  of  ours,"  he 
said.  "  We've  lived  in  the  place  so  long  that  I  think  he 
would  let  us  call  him  that,  and  he  has  always  behaved  as 
such.  He  is  very  much  blamed  for  what  he  has  done  since 
he  succeeded,  but  whatever  he  has  done  it  is  himself  that 
he  has  hurt,  and  not  us.  It  is  not  for  us  to  blame  him. 
I  think  we  had  better  leave  his  name  out." 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Davis,"  said  Armitage  Brown,  and 
now  his  tone  was  harder.  "  As  I  understand  your  attitude, 
Lord  Meadshire  is  your  friend,  and  I  am  not  to  be  allowed 
to  complain  of  his  trying  to  persuade  you  that  I  am  your 
enemy,  although  I  take  the  trouble  to  assure  you  that  he 
knows  nothing  whatever  about  me.  But  it  doesn't  give  us 
very  encouraging  ground  to  stand  on  as  landlord  and  tenant, 
does  it?  " 

Poor  Mrs.  Davis  did  not  understand  it  all  very  well,  but 
she  saw  with  dismay  that  the  favourable  atmosphere  she 
had  created  seemed  to  be  changing.  "  I'm  sure,  if  Mr. 
Brown  assures  us  that  Lord  Meadshire  has  been  mistaken," 
she  said,  "  we  are  ready  to  accept  that,  kind  as  Mr.  Brown 
has  shown  himself  to  be." 

"  We  had  better  hear  what  Mr.  Brown  wants  of  us,  my 
dear,"  said  her  husband,  not  yielding  an  inch. 

But  his  son  saw  more  clearly  than  he  did,  and  put  in 
his  word  too.  "  Mr.  Brown  can  have  no  objection  to  our 
keeping  on  friendly  terms  with  Lord  Meadshire.  But  he 


PERSUASION  235 

is  not  our  landlord  any  longer,  and  we  ought  not  to  let 
what  he  says  come  between  us  and  Mr.  Brown." 

"  I'm  glad  you've  said  that,"  said  Armitage  Brown, 
"  for  it  was  beginning  to  look  as  if  I  was  going  to  waste 
my  time  talking  at  all,  and  I'm  not  a  man  who  likes  to 
waste  time.  I  said  what  I  did  about  Lord  Meadshire  not 
in  the  least  because  I  care  for  what  he  says  about  me,  but 
because  I  wanted  you  to  understand  quite  plainly  that  he 
has  done  nothing — nothing  whatever — to  dispose  me  well 
towards  his  old  tenants.  Whatever  he  has  done  has  been 
with  the  object  of  setting  us  against  one  another.  You 
may  reconcile  that  with  his  friendship  for  you  just  as  you 
please.  That's  your  business.  But  it  is  me  you  have  to 
deal  with,  and  if  I  am  ready  to  give  you  as  much  considera- 
tion as  one  man  can  give  to  another,  as  indeed  I  am  " — 
he  was  addressing  the  old  man  now — "  well,  it's  a  matter 
between  me  and  you,  and,  as  your  son  says,  Lord  Mead- 
shire  and  his  way  of  doing  things  don't  come  into  it." 

His  direct  dominant  speech  was  beginning  to  tell.  The 
old  farmer  was  influenced  little  enough  by  his  world-wide 
reputation  as  a  great  figure  in  finance;  to  him  he  was  only 
a  new  rich  man  likely  to  make  great  mistakes  in  the  busi- 
ness of  landholding,  and  a  very  inferior  substitute  in  every 
way  for  those  whom  he  had  dispossessed.  But  he  recog- 
nised unwillingly  his  quality  of  mastership,  and  he  had 
been  bred  through  long  generations  to  accept  mastership 
from  the  men  who  held  just  the  one  position  towards  him 
that  this  man  held,  though  without  loss  of  dignity  on  his 
own  part. 

"  It  is  my  duty,"  said  the  old  man  with  grave  courtesy, 
"  and  I  shall  hope  to  make  it  my  pleasure,  to  stand  well 
with  my  landlord,  as  I  have  always  done.  And  I  thank 
you,  sir,  for  your  statement  that  you  wish  to  stand  well 
with  me." 


236  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  I  do  wish  that,"  said  Armitage  Brown.  "  I  have  come 
here  to  you,  first,  as  the  oldest  tenants  on  the  estate,  at 
the  earliest  possible  moment  to  tell  you  so.  And  also  to 
tell  you  what  my  plans  with  regard  to  this  part  of  the 
property  are.  They  are  such  that  I  look  to  you  particularly 
to  help  me  in,  and  such  that  I  think  I  can  hold  out  to  you 
the  prospect  of  larger  returns  than  you  can  have  had  from 
your  farm  for  a  good  many  years  back." 

"  Wheat  is  not  what  it  was  in  my  father's  or  my  grand- 
father's time,"  said  the  old  man,  "  but  it  is  looking  up 
again,  and  I  think  it  is  likely  to  look  up  still  further." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  go  on  growing  wheat.  I  am  going 
in  for  dairying  on  a  large  scale.  I  am  prepared  to  spend 
a  large  sum  of  money  on  it,  and  I  want  the  men  who  hold 
land  from  me  hereabouts  to  go  in  for  it  with  me.  They 
will  have  no  initial  expenditure  of  their  own,  and  they  will 
be  compensated — those  who  choose  to  stay  on — for  any 
temporary  loss  that  they  may  be  put  to,  just  as  if  they 
had  previously  held  their  farms  under  me,  and  I  were  not 
beginning  here  entirely  afresh.  Now  I  understand  very 
well — I  have  gone  into  it  thoroughly  with  Captain  Fuller 
— that  to  change  Points  Farm  from  one  where  wheat  is 
chiefly  grown  to  a  dairy  farm  goes  against  the  traditions 
you  have  carried  on  for  some  generations;  but  I  also 
understand,  Mr.  Davis,  that  before  your  family  took  their 
lead  in  wheat-growing  they  were  big  dairy-farmers,  here  at 
Points :  so  I  think  that  any  natural  disappointment  you  may 
feel  at  changing  your  ways  to  that  extent  may  be  fairly 
balanced  by  knowing  that  you're  only  going  back  to  a  still 
older  tradition  of  your  family." 

The  old  man  sighed  deeply;  the  young  one  frowned. 
What  was  all  this  but  one  of  the  wild  ignorant  experi- 
ments that  they  had  been  warned  against,  that  they  had 
yet  begun  to  hope  would  not  be  tried  after  all? 


PERSUASION  237 

"  I  understood  you  to  say,  sir,  that  Lord  Meadshire  was 
mistaken  in  saying  that  you  would  want  to  change  every- 
thing round  here,"  said  John  Davis. 

"  I  said  that  Lord  Meadshire  knew  nothing  whatever 
about  what  I  wanted  to  do.  But  what  do  you  call  changing 
everything  round?  How  much  am  I  wanting  to  change, 
here  at  Points,  and  how  much  am  I  desirous  of  leaving  as 
it  is?  There  are  two  things,  I  take  it,  that  count  with 
you.  One  is  staying  on  in  the  house  that  has  been  yours 
for  nearly  two  hundred  years,  the  other  is  carrying  on 
your  farming  as  you've  carried  it  on  for  about  a  hundred. 
Which  counts  for  most?  " 

Again  he  began  with  the  younger  man  and  ended  with 
the  older,  and  the  old  man  answered  him  with  proud  resig- 
nation. "  If  I've  got  to  change  all  my  ways,  sir,  at  the 
end  of  fifty  years  of  work,  and  my  experience  is  to  go  for 
nothing,  I  may  as  well  leave  the  old  house  at  once.  I'm 
too  old  to  begin  again." 

"  Is  wheat  the  only  thing  that  you  have  learnt  to  grow 
in  fifty  years,  Mr.  Davis?  We  have  just  come  through 
your  land,  and  I  noticed  that  a  good  deal  of  it  was  pasture, 
and  we  stopped  for  a  moment  to  look  at  a  herd  of  cows. 
Do  you  know  nothing  about  dairying  at  all?  " 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  "  we  have  been  very 
proud  of  our  dairy.  Next  to  the  wheat  it  has  been  the 
chief  thing  with  us.  When  I  was  younger  and  could  do 
more  myself,  I  looked  after  it  entirely,  and  it  is  still  a 
model  dairy  for  its  size." 

"  There  you  are ! "  said  Armitage  Brown  in  good- 
humoured  triumph.  "  I  thought  I  had  come  to  the  right 
place  to  get  advice  upon  details.  Mr.  Davis,  I  expect  you 
know  just  as  much  about  dairying  as  about  wheat-growing, 
and  I  think  when  I've  told  you  a  little  more  about  the 
scheme  I  have  worked  out,  you  won't,  after  all,  find  it 


238  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

such  a  terrible  thing  to  make  one  rather  than  the  other  your 
chief  interest.  I  don't  want  you  to  give  up  wheat-growing 
altogether,  you  know." 

The  old  man  gathered  himself  together.  "  I  hope  you 
won't  take  amiss  what  I  am  going  to  say,  sir.  I  mean 
no  disrespect  to  you,  but  you  are  a  man  many  years  younger 
that  I  am.  As  I  understand,  you  have  been  engaged  in 
business  in  the  City  of  London  all  your  life,  and  have 
grown  rich  on  it.  And  now  you  come  into  the  country  in 
middle-life  and  want  to  teach  their  business  to  men  who 
learnt  it  long  before  you  were  born,  and  had  it  in  their  blood 
and  bones  before  they  were  born.  I  ask  you  fairly,  now, 
which  is  likely  to  know  more  about  farming — you  or  I  ?  " 

"  I'll  answer  your  question,  Mr.  Davis,  and  then  I'll 
ask  you  one.  If  you  were  to  put  me  down  in  the  smallest 
possible  farm  you  could  find,  I  shouldn't  begin  to  know 
how  to  work  it.  Now  is  that  a  straight  answer  to  your 
question?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  think  you've  answered  everything.  If 
you  admit  that,  then  you  had  better  let  me  go  on  doing 
the  best  I  can  for  you,  as  I  did  the  best  I  could  for  those 
who  came  before  you.  For  I  do  know  how  to  work  a  farm, 
and  so  does  my  son." 

"  But  wait  a  minute.  I've  got  a  question  to  ask  you  first. 
You  said  just  now  that  I  had  been  working  all  my  life  in 
the  City  of  London,  and  had  grown  rich  on  it.  That's 
true ;  and  I  began  without  a  penny,  and,  as  you  say,  I'm  not 
old  yet.  And  how  do  you  suppose  I  made  my  money  ?  I'll 
answer  that  question  for  you  myself.  No  money  is  made, 
Mr.  Davis,  in  the  City  of  London,  or  anywhere  else,  that 
does  not  come,  if  you  trace  it  back  far  enough,  either  from 
exploiting  land  or  from  exploiting  labour.  A  few  years 
ago  I  made  a  great  deal  of  money  out  of  rubber.  What  do 
I  know  about  rubber-growing?  I  have  never  seen  a  rubber- 


PERSUASION  239 

tree.  But  I  made  it  my  business,  and  worked  very  hard 
at  it,  to  know  exactly  what  a  given  rubber  plantation  was 
worth.  That's  why  I  not  only  made  money  when  other 
people  were  making  it,  but  went  on  making  it  after  other 
people  had  begun  to  lose.  A  month  or  two  ago,  when  I 
was  in  America,  I  heard  something  about  timber  in  Canada, 
and  I  went  out  to  the  west  of  Canada  to  see  for  myself. 
What  do  I  know  about  timber  ?  I  doubt  if  I  could  tell  you 
the  names  of  a  dozen  English  trees  if  you  were  to  show 
them  to  me.  But  I  stand  to  make  a  great  deal  of  money 
out  of  what  I  found  out  about  timber.  Have  you  ever 
heard  about  the  Wheat-Pit  in  Chicago,  Mr.  Davis  ?  Wheat 
is  your  family  tradition.  Some  of  your  forbears  grew  rich 
on  growing  wheat  in  the  good  times.  Did  any  of  them 
ever  make  three  thousand  pounds  in  ten  minutes  out  of 
selling  wheat?  Because  that's  what  I  did  the  other  day 
in  Chicago.  I  had  had  a  little  piece  of  information  given 
me,  and  I  turned  it  into  money.  All  the  work  I  did  in 
connection  with  it  didn't  take  me  more  than  ten  minutes, 
and  I  ran  no  greater  risk  than  you  would  run  from  a  bad 
harvest — not  so  much,  because  as  far  as  I  had  to  know 
something  I  knew  it  exactly.  And  now  I  come  to  my  ques- 
tion. When  it's  a  matter  of  making  money,  out  of  rubber 
or  timber  or  wheat,  or  anything  else  you  like  to  mention, 
which  is  likely  to  know  most  about  it — the  man  who  studies 
their  growth,  or  the  man  who  studies  their  value?  " 

There  was  silence.  Fuller  broke  it,  speaking  for  the 
first  time.  "  I've  never  heard  a  subject  dealt  with  in  a 
better  way  than  that,"  he  said.  "  It's  as  clear  as  daylight, 
Mr.  Davis,  and  if  Mr.  Brown  won't  mind  my  saying  so, 
it's  a  great  compliment  on  his  part  to  tell  us  these  things. 
WThat  he  has  told  us  is  exactly  how  he  has  made  his  great 
fortune.  It's  by  taking  a  lot  of  pains  to  find  out  where 
opportunities  lie,  and  then  taking  them.  Well,  he's  found 


210  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

an  opportunity  here,  and  I  can  tell  you  this,  that  he's 
already  taken  such  a  lot  of  pains  about  it,  that  there's  no 
room  for  mistake.  And  what  he's  offering  you  is  to  go  in 
with  him,  and  to  go  on  living  here  at  Points  into  the  bar- 
gain. I  should  take  the  chance  if  I  were  you.  There 
aren't  many  who  wouldn't  be  glad  of  it." 

The  old  man  still  looked  troubled,  and  the  old  lady 
bewildered,  but  the  young  man,  who  had  listened  with  in- 
creasing interest,  now  spoke,  in  a  more  alert  voice  than 
he  had  used  before.  "  If  Mr.  Brown  has  a  well-worked- 
out  scheme  by  which  money  can  be  made  out  of  dairying 
— I  suppose  it  would  be  on  a  large  scale  from  the  way  he 
has  spoken — and  we  are  invited  to  come  into  it,  then  I 
for  my  part  do  take  it  as  a  compliment  that  lie  has  come 
to  us  in  the  spirit  that  he  has.  For  I  suppose,  as  far  as 
he  is  concerned,  he  would  just  as  soon  have  new  people 
here  to  work  with  him  as  not." 

Armitage  Brown  turned  round  to  him  sharply.  "  Ah, 
now  you  see  it,"  he  said.  "  Well,  you  may  judge  how 
much  of  a  compliment  I've  paid  you,  when  I  tell  you  that 
I've  never  in  my  life  taken  as  much  trouble  to  interest  any- 
body in  anything  I've  taken  in  hand.  It's  a  great  many 
years  since  I've  taken  that  sort  of  trouble  at  all.  I've  had 
to  keep  off  the  people  who  wanted  to  come  in  with  me 
instead  of  persuading  them.  I've  taken  trouble  with  you  " 
— and  now  he  had  turned  to  the  old  man  once  more — 
"  because  I  don't  want  you  to  leave  this  house,  where  you 
have  been  so  long.  It's  not  a  matter  of  business  at  all; 
it's  a  matter  of  sentiment.  If  it  were  a  matter  of  business 
I  would  start  everything  afresh,  as  your  son  quite  rightly 
judges.  I  should  make  a  great  deal  more  money  for 
myself  if  I  took  over  all  the  farms  I  want  to  bring  into 
the  scheme,  and  put  in  men  to  work  them  under  a  manager. 
But  I  don't  look  for  more  than  a  fair  return  on  my  capital 


PERSUASION  241 

'out  of  this  particular  scheme.  I  want  others  to  benefit  by 
it — the  people  on  the  land,  and  the  more  of  them  the  better. 
They  will  use  their  knowledge,  and  I  shall  use  mine;  we 
shall  work  in  together.  Now,  Mr.  Davis,  I've  put  it  fairly 
before  you;  it's  for  you  to  choose.  Are  you  going  in  with 
me?  " 

The  old  man  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  said 
quietly:  "I'm  ready,  sir,  to  hear  about  the  scheme  you  have 
spoken  of." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

KEMSALE  RECTORY 

ALL  sailors  are  said  to  love  a  horse.  Frank  Clinton,  who 
had  been  brought  up  to  look  upon  horses  as  affording  the 
chief  pleasures  open  to  mankind,  was  no  exception.  When 
his  periods  of  leave  had  coincided  with  the  hunting  season, 
he  had  reckoned  it  an  unsatisfactory  week  in  which  at 
least  five  days  had  not  been  spent  in  the  saddle;  and  even 
in  this  hot  premature  summer  he  found  some  excuse  nearly 
every  day  for  betaking  himself  somewhere  on  horseback. 
He  had  learned  lately  that  a  shipmate,  also  on  leave,  was 
to  be  found  at  Kemsale  Rectory,  and  set  out  one  morning 
to  visit  him  there. 

It  was  a  ten-mile  ride,  and  he  enjoyed  every  moment 
of  it.  He  was  a  young  man  cut  out  for  the  enjoyment 
of  the  moment.  Whatever  he  had  to  do  he  did  as  well 
as  he  could  and  interested  himself  in  it;  he  was  a  capable 
and  thoroughly  reliable  officer,  though  not  a  brilliant  one. 
His  days  were  contented,  wherever  he  spent  them,  because 
he  was  not  always  looking  forward  to  better  ones.  So 
when  the  better  days  came  he  was  more  than  contented; 
they  were  not  spoilt  by  regret,  nor  by  the  hampering  sense 
of  their  coming  to  an  end.  He  had  no  debts,  no  personal 
worries,  no  ambition  except  to  rise  steadily  in  the  service, 
which  he  was  doing,  and  no  keen  desires  unlikely  to  be 
fulfilled.  As  he  trotted  along  the  country  roads  and  lanes, 
and  occasionally  cantered  upon  grass,  whistling  to  himself, 
and  cracking  the  long  lash  of  his  hunting  crop  at  the 

242 


KEMSALE  RECTORY  243 

dogs  that  accompanied  him,  he  was  the  entirely  free  and 
happy  man. 

He  stayed  to  luncheon,  or  rather  early  dinner,  at  Kern- 
sale  Rectory,  and  was  treated  as  an  honoured  guest. 
Charles  Sheard,  who  had  lately  served  on  the  same  ship 
as  himself  in  the  Pacific  Station  and  come  home  at  the 
same  time,  was  a  junior  lieutenant,  while  he  was  a  senior 
one,  and  visitors  of  Frank  Clinton's  particular  quality 
were  a  new  experience  in  this  family. 

It  may  also  be  said  that  this  family  was  a  new  experi- 
ence to  Frank  Clinton.  Those  who  belong  of  old-estab- 
lished right  to  the  world  of  big  country  houses  are  liable 
to  gaps  in  their  social  knowledge.  They  are  familiar  with 
the  lives  of  the  poor,  but  not  with  the  lives  of  those  who 
come  between  the  labouring  and  the  professional  classes. 
Rectories  and  vicarages  they  know,  where  there  is  apt  to 
be  genteel  poverty ;  but  the  rectories  and  vicarages  of  South 
Meadshire  were  filled  for  the  most  part  with  families  whose 
ways  differed  little,  except  sometimes  in  respect  of  money 
at  command,  from  those  of  the  country-house  families.  The 
Sheards  came  from  different  surroundings  altogether. 
Neither  Mr.  Sheard  nor  his  wife  were  by  birth  what  the 
Clintons  of  the  world  would  have  called  gentlefolk;  Mr. 
Sheard's  profession  had  raised  him  a  social  step,  although 
that  had  been  very  far  from  his  object  in  embracing  it, 
and  the  step  had  not  been  marked  in  the  place  in  which 
his  clerical  life  had  hitherto  been  spent,  except  by  the 
success  of  his  sons,  who  had  also  entered  the  professional 
classes  one  after  the  other.  The  good  man  wanted  this 
kind  of  success  for  his  children,  made  sacrifices  for  it,  and 
was  proud  of  it  when  it  came.  For  himself  he  wanted 
nothing  of  it,  and,  other  things  being  equal,  would  have 
preferred  to  do  the  work  on  which  his  mind  was  set 
amongst  the  people  from  whom  he  had  sprung.  It  was 


Sll  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

a  calm  joy  to  him  to  be  put  into  possession  of  this  large 
house  and  its  beautiful  surroundings,  and  the  comfortable 
income  of  which  he  would  never  waste  a  penny.  But 
he  had  no  idea  of  presenting  himself  before  the  world  as 
anything  other  than  what  he  was.  The  large  house  made 
no  demands  upon  him  to  live  up  to  its  standard;  it  was 
made  to  adapt  itself  to  his.  His  parish  was  his  sole  social 
unit;  no  concessions  were  made  to  outside  claims.  He  had 
not  considered  it  necessary  to  have  anything,  however 
modest,  in  the  elaborate  stables,  "  to  get  about  in  ";  he  did 
not  wish  to  get  about.  He  did  not  claim  an  equality  with 
neighbouring  squires,  or  socially  even  with  neighbouring 
parsons ;  their  ways  were  not  altogether  his  ways,  and  his 
ways  were  sufficient  for  him.  It  followed,  therefore,  that 
he  was  invulnerable  to  the  snobbery  that  attaches  itself  to 
so  many  country  parsonages.  The  kind  of  criticism  that  is 
brought  to  bear  upon  a  man  born  below  a  certain  stratum, 
and  lacking  the  conventional  education  that  may  hide  it, 
did  not  touch  him,  because  he  accepted  those  facts  about 
himself  and  was  not  ashamed  of  them.  His  manhood 'was 
revealed;  it  was  his  only  standing-ground — that  and  his 
religion. 

Charles  Sheard  was  in  the  garden  when  Frank  rode  up. 
His  sister  was  with  him,  but  she  had  disappeared  before 
Frank  dismounted,  being  at  the  age  of  sudden  disappear- 
ance before  the  unfamiliar.  Charles  Sheard  was  the  typical 
sailor,  short  and  stubby  like  his  father,  with  a  pleasant 
open  face — more  typical  than  Frank,  who  was  tall  and 
fair,  and  except  that  he  was  clean-shaven,  wore  an  air 
more  military  than  naval,  especially  in  his  smart  riding- 
clothes.  They  went  round  to  the  empty  stables  together, 
but  when  Charles  Sheard  insisted  that  Frank  should  stay 
to  lunch,  they  went  down  to  the  village  inn,  so  that  the 
horse  could  also  have  refreshment,  of  which  the  rectory 


KEMSALE  RECTORY  245 

stables  were  now  denuded.  Frank  had  intended  to  go  on 
to  the  Herons'  Nest  for  lunch,  but  he  had  caught  sight 
of  Charles's  sister,  before  her  disappearance,  and  had  the 
sailor's  interest  in  a  pretty  girl.  Anne  was  pretty  enough 
to  make  him  quite  willing  to  change  his  plan. 

"  I  haven't  been  to  this  house  since  I  was  a  boy,"  said 
Frank,  as  they  walked  up  the  rectory  drive  again.  "  A 
sort  of  cousin  of  mine  was  rector  here  then,  but  he  died 
when  I  was  on  the  Britannia." 

"  I  expect  you'll  find  it  a  good  deal  altered,"  said 
Charles.  "  We  lived  in  a  very  small  house  before  we  came 
here,  and  our  gear  doesn't  make  much  of  a  show.  I'll 
just  take  you  to  see  my  father,  and  then  we  might  go 
out  in  the  garden  till  dinner's  ready." 

The  square  hall,  which  in  Compton's  time  had  been 
furnished  luxuriously  as  an  extra  sitting-room,  was  almost 
entirely  bare.  There  was  a  square  of  oilcloth  in  the  middle 
of  it,  and  a  stand  for  coats,  hats,  and  umbrellas  against 
one  of  the  walls,  and  that  was  all,  except  a  large  almanac 
pinned  to  another  wall.  The  door  leading  into  what  had 
been  Compton's  large  book-room  was  open,  and  revealed 
a  still  more  complete  desolation,  for  the  shelves  that  sur- 
rounded it  were  all  empty,  and  it  contained  nothing  but 
some  packing-cases  and  a  few  odds  and  ends  of  furnishings 
that  had  not  yet  found  their  place. 

"  This  is  a  jolly  room,"  said  Charles,  pausing  at  the 
door.  "  It  will  be  the  drawing-room  some  day,  but  it 
would  have  to  be  repapered  and  the  shelves  taken  down; 
and  there  isn't  enough  furniture  for  it  at  present." 

"  Yes,  it's  a  fine  room,"  said  Frank,  somewhat  taken 
aback  by  the  poverty  that  his  friend  accepted  as  so  natural 
a  state  of  things.  He  followed  him  down  a  passage  and 
into  a  small  room  looking  out  on  to  the  garden,  in  which 
Mr.  Sheard  sat  at  his  desk,  surrounded  conveniently  enough, 


246  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

if  somewhat  austerely,  by  the  books  and  other  accessories 
of  his  calling.  A  large  picture  of  a  four-masted  ship  with 
all  her  sails  set  formed  a  somewhat  incongruous  ornament 
above  the  mantelpiece,  and  Mr.  Sheard  referred  to  it  after 
the  introductions  had  been  made. 

"  I  see  you're  looking  at  the  old  Orion,  Mr.  Clinton," 
he  said.  "  I  made  just  twenty  voyages  in  her,  out  by  the 
Cape  to  Australia  and  back  round  Cape  Horn.  She  was 
one  of  the  fastest  wool  clippers  afloat ;  we  only  missed  doing 
the  record  passage  home  by  fourteen  hours.  I  like  to 
think  sometimes  that  I  was  a  sailor  once;  a  real  sailor., 
you  know.  I  was  never  in  steam  during  all  the  thirty-two 
years  I  followed  the  sea." 

"  I  suppose  no  seaman  could  say  that  now,  could  he?  " 

"  Very  few,  I  should  think.  When  I  first  went  to  sea, 
a  great  many  battleships  only  had  auxiliary  screws,  and 
I  rather  think  there  were  some  of  the  old  wooden  ships 
still  on  duty  here  and  there  without  any  steam  at  all." 

"They  don't  make  sailors  of  us  now,"  said  Frank; 
"  we're  all  mechanicians."  He  was  inclined  to  like  this 
rather  unusual  kind  of  rector,  with  his  simple  speech  and 
his  years  of  hard  seafaring  life  behind  him.  "  I'd  like  to 
hear  about  some  of  your  voyages,  Mr.  Sheard,"  he  said. 
"  You  get  a  bit  of  a  draught  round  the  Horn  sometimes, 
don't  you?  " 

"If  you  start  father  on  that  subject  he'll  never  have 
done,"  said  Charles. 

"  But  we'll  have  some  yarns,  all  the  same,  later  on," 
said  Mr.  Sheard.  "  You're  going  to  keep  Mr.  Clinton  to 
dinner,  aren't  you,  Charles?  If  you  take  him  into  the 
garden  now,  I'll  come  out  to  you  when  I've  finished  what 
I  have  to  do.  I  shan't  be  long." 

Neither  of  them  was  interested  enough  in  a  garden  to 
care  to  inspect  this  one.  They  sat  under  a  tree  and 


KEMSALE  RECTORY  247 

smoked.  Each  of  them  was  readjusting  his  view  of  the 
other.  They  had  hitherto  been  equals,  except  for  Frank's 
seniority,  living  the  same  life  and  interested  in  the  same 
pursuits.  Charles  had  known  that  Frank,  who  had  a 
larger  allowance  than  most  of  his  shipmates,  came  from  a 
big  country  house  somewhere;  Frank  had  known  that 
Charles  was  the  son  of  a  clergyman.  Photographs  and 
cabin  adornments  indicate  these  things,  as  well  as  talk 
about  sport  and  other  doings  ashore.  But  it  had  made  no 
difference.  Now  the  difference  of  origin  seemed  very 
marked,  and  perhaps  both  of  them  were  looking  for  signs 
that  it  was  noted  in  the  other.  It  could  not  help  being 
noted,  and  there  was  a  slight  awkwardness  between  them 
during  the  twenty  minutes  or  so  during  which  they  were 
alone  together.  But  at  the  end  of  that  time  each  liked 
the  other  better  than  he  had  done  before.  There  was  a 
broad  simplicity  of  mind  in  both  of  them  that  based  itself 
upon  essentials,  but  shirked  nothing.  Their  previous 
intimacy,  which  had  been  fed  by  their  long  and  close 
proximity  in  a  life  in  which  their  interests  were  the  same, 
stood  the  test  where  the  influences  that  affected  them  were 
widely  different.  The  accidents  of  environment  were  seen 
to  be  nothing ;  the  friendship  dug  deeper  than  the  accidents. 
William,  the  youngest  son,  came  out  to  them.  He  was 
something  like  Charles  in  appearance,  already  settling  to 
the  stocky  Sheard  breed,  although  he  was  not  quite  eighteen 
years  of  age.  He  was  something  of  a  problem  in  the 
family.  He  had  been  educated  at  the  big  London  school 
at  which  his  two  elder  brothers  had  done  so  well,  taking 
it  as  a  spring-board  from  which  to  get  the  scholarships 
and  prizes  that  had  made  their  after  education  possible 
to  them.  But  William  was  not  a  winner  of  prizes  and 
scholarships,  though  he  had  worked  steadily  up  to  his  full 
ability.  He  was  great  at  games,  and  a  personage  in  the 


248  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

little  world  of  his  school;  but  that  kind  of  eminence,  while 
it  may  earn  results  at  a  later  educational  stage,  has  to  be 
supported  at  his  age,  and  the  support  was  not  available 
here.  He  would  have  been  allowed  to  stay  at  school  for 
another  year  if  his  father  had  not  moved  away  from  Lon- 
don, but  there  was  not  enough  money  to  keep  him  there  as 
a  boarder,  unless  it  had  been  worth  while  for  the  sake  of 
rewards  that  would  carry  him  on  a  stage  further.  He  was 
at  present  "  resting "  at  home,  until  a  career  should  be 
decided  for  him,  and  enormously  enjoying  the  change  to 
a  country  life. 

He  was  shy  and  awkward,  and  badly  dressed,  in  a  much- 
worn  black  jacket,  trousers  too  short  for  him  and  bagging 
at  the  knees,  and  his  school  cap  on  the  back  of  his  head; 
just  the  figure  that  might  test  Frank  Clinton's  ability  to 
pierce  beneath  the  surface;  for  his  own  brothers,  as  school- 
boys of  mature  age,  two  at  Eton  and  one  at  Winchester, 
had  presented  a  very  different  appearance,  and  acquired 
a  very  different  manner.  He  passed  the  test.  Young 
William  found  no  difficulty  in  talking  to  him — village 
cricket  was  the  subject  for  the  moment — and  as  he  fol- 
lowed him  indoors  later  threw  a  look  almost  of  hero- 
worship  at  him,  so  easy  is  it  for  an  older  man  by  a  little 
kindness  and  attention  to  arouse  the  admiration  of  youth. 

Mrs.  Sheard  and  Anne  were  in  the  dining-room,  to 
which  the  furniture  that  had  been  transferred  from  the 
thirteen-by-twelve  apartment  at  Melbury  Park  gave  the 
appearance  of  a  large  stage  inadequately  set.  Mrs.  Sheard 
still  bore  the  appearance  of  a  sea-captain's  wife;  Anne 
was  much  prettier  than  Frank  had  taken  her  to  be  on 
his  first  glimpse  of  her.  She  was  as  tall  as  her  brothers 
and  her  father,  which  with  her  youthful  slimness  gave  her 
the  appearance  of  height  in  which  they  were  conspicuously 
lacking.  Her  face  was  demure  and  merry  at  the  same 


KEMSALE  RECTORY  249 

time;  her  eyes  were  on  the  look-out  for  laughter,  and  her 
lips  ready  to  follow  suit  upon  the  slightest  provocation; 
but  she  could  look  very  grave.  There  was  something 
kittenish  about  her  soft  roundness,  but  she  had  the  natural 
grace  of  her  growth  besides.  A  severe  critic  might  have 
denied  to  her  beauty  of  a  high  type,  but  must  have  been 
visited  by  grave  doubts  as  he  did  so,  wondering  whether, 
after  all,  so  sweet  a  face  could  have  been  improved  upon 
by  features  or  profile. 

The  maid,  who  with  a  man  for  the  garden  and  for  odd 
jobs  took  the  place  of  Compton's  indoor  and  outdoor 
staff  of  nine,  brought  in  an  Irish  stew,  and  after  it  an 
apple  tart.  There  was  beer  to  drink  for  the  men,  and  at 
dessert,  which  included  one  or  two  rare  edibles  from  dis- 
tant climes,  Mr.  Sheard  brought  out  some  very  ancient  rum. 
There  were  flowers  on  the  table,  massed  chiefly  in  a  heavy 
piece  of  presentation  plate  in  the  centre.  The  slight  air 
of  festivity  afforded  by  these  arrangements  was  no  doubt 
due  to  Frank's  appearance  as  a  guest.  There  was  a  little 
ice  to  be  broken  at  first  with  Mrs.  Sheard,  but  it  soon 
thawed  under  his  natural  geniality,  and  he  had  her  laugh- 
ing and  enjoying  herself  long  before  the  remains  of  the 
Irish  stew  were  exchanged  for  the  apple  tart.  Her  pretty 
daughter  had  inherited  her  dimpled  merriment  from  her, 
and  it  was  a  relief  to  the  good  lady  to  give  vent  to  it  in 
these  broader  surroundings,  for  of  late  years  she  had  had  to 
play  a  part  to  which  she  was  not  altogether  suited. 

Anne  was,  of  course,  brought  into  the  conversation. 
Frank  turned  to  her  more  than  was  absolutely  necessary 
for  the  sake  of  seeing  her  pretty  face  break  into  smiles, 
her  lips  apart,  and  the  white  teeth  show  themselves,  while 
the  sweet  little  trill  of  laughter  came,  with  the  head 
slightly  thrown  back,  and  the  dimples  showed  themselves 
on  rounded  chin  and  cheek  in  the  most  entrancing  fashion. 


250  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

If  Frank  exerted  himself  to  produce  these  attractive  ex- 
hibitions, and  took  more  and  more  pleasure  in  them  each 
time,  he  was  not  only  gratifying  himself,  as  it  appeared. 
There  was  an  admiring  tenderness  shown  towards  this 
pretty  child  by  her  father  and  mother  and  brothers  alike. 
She  was  the  flower  of  the  family,  greatly  loved  and  cher- 
ished. Her  father's  rugged  face  grew  wonderfully  soft 
when  he  looked  at  her;  she  was  sitting  next  to  him,  and 
once  or  twice  he  put  out  his  hand  on  to  hers  as  it  rested 
on  the  table.  Her  mother  once  rebuked  her  for  talking  too 
much,  but  the  last  thing  that  her  tone  and  her  smile  de- 
manded was  that  her  rebuke  should  be  acted  upon.  Charles 
encouraged  her  by  an  occasional  dry  word  of  chaff.  Wil- 
liam was  the  only  one  who  looked  at  Frank  more  than  he 
looked  at  her,  and  Frank's  undisguised  admiration  of 
her  seemed  to  gratify  him  exceedingly,  so  that  when 
he  did  look  at  Anne  it  was  with  new  admiration  of  his 
own. 

The  talk  that  brought  them  all  in  in  this  happy  way 
was  founded  upon  the  experiences  of  distant  seas  and 
countries  that  the  three  men  had  enjoyed,  and  that  had 
always  held  open  for  this  family  a  window  towards  a  larger 
brighter  world  than  the  one  they  inhabited.  When  it  drifted 
nearer  home,  Anne  took  little  part  in  it,  but  her  eyes  were 
upon  Frank  almost  as  much  as  William's,  who  sat  next 
to  her. 

William  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight.  There 
had  been  mention  of  a  trout-fishing  expedition  that  Frank 
and  Charles  had  made  in  New  Zealand.  Frank  had  asked 
Charles  to  come  over  for  a  day's  fishing  at  Kencote.  and  had 
extended  the  invitation  to  William.  The  happy  boy,  cut  out 
by  nature  for  every  country  pursuit,  but  condemned  hitherto 
to  the  uncongenial  restraints  of  the  town,  saw  a  glamourous 
new  life  opening  up  before  him,  and  his  feelings  towards 


KEMSALE  RECTORY  251 

Frank  had  flowered  into  something  like  adoration  already. 
"  Oh,  we'll  put  you  into  the  way  of  it,"  Frank  said,  "  and 
there  are  plenty  of  rods  at  Kencote.  Plenty  of  trout,  too, 
though  they're  not  the  monsters  that  Charles  and  I  caught 
in  New  Zealand.  Who  fishes  here,  by  the  by?  There's 
some  good  water  at  Kemsale." 

"  I  don't  believe  anybody  does/'  said  Charles.  "  William 
and  I  were  looking  at  the  fish  the  other  day.  We'd  half 
made  up  our  minds  to  ask  Mr.  Brown  if  we  might  have 
a  try  some  evening." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that/'  said  his  father.  "  Mr. 
Brown  is  so  kind  that  I  shouldn't  care  to  ask  him  for 
anything  that  he  didn't  offer  himself." 

The  attribution  of  this  particular  quality  to  the  arch- 
millionaire,  of  whom  he  had  formed  quite  a  different  idea, 
was  a  surprise  to  Frank.  "  Is  he  behaving  well — Armitage 
Brown  ?  "  he  asked.  "  There  are  all  sorts  of  stories  flying 
about  the  country." 

"  He  has  shown  the  utmost  kindness  to  us,"  said  Mr. 
Sheard  gravely.  "  The  difficulty  has  been  to  prevent  him 
doing  more  than  a  man  of  independence  wants  another  man 
to  do  for  him." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  he  is  like  that,"  said  Frank.  "  Kem- 
sale coming  into  new  hands  is  a  great  change  for  us  in  these 
parts." 

"  Kemsale  is  a  very  fine  house,"  said  Mrs.  Sheard.  "  We 
all  stayed  there  for  a  week  while  we  were  moving  in,  except 
Charles,  who  was  with  his  godfather." 

The  good  lady  had  been  enormously  impressed  by  Kem- 
sale, which  was  quite  different  from  anything  she  had  ever 
known  before,  or  dreamt  of  as  likely  to  come  into  her 
experience.  She  had  not  been  altogether  comfortable  there, 
although  Mrs.  Brown  and  Aunt  Millie  had  taken  to  her, 
and  done  their  best  to  make  her  so.  It  had  been  too  great  a 


252  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

change.  But  she  liked  to  think  about  it  all,  and  had  written 
many  letters  to  relations  and  intimate  friends  on  the 
subject. 

"  It's  the  largest  house  in  these  parts/'  said  Frank.  "  It 
was  quite  a  shock  to  me  when  they  wrote  and  told  me  it 
had  been  sold." 

"  I  suppose  you  knew  it,  Mr.  Clinton,  when  Lord  Mead- 
shire  lived  there." 

"  Oh,  yes.  He's  my  cousin,  you  know.  I  knew  it  best 
when  I  was  a  boy,  and  his  grandfather  was  alive.  He  was 
a  dear  old  boy,  and  was  always  getting  us  over  here  and 
doing  things  for  us.  He  was  the  great  man  in  these  parts 
too,  and  one  would  never  have  thought  it  possible  that  Kem- 
sale  should  ever  come  to  an  end  as  it  did.  I  couldn't 
believe  it  when  I  heard  it." 

This  was  an  entirely  new  point  of  view,  except  possibly 
to  Mr.  Sheard,  who  had  been  diligently  going  about  his 
parish.  Mrs.  Sheard,  certainly,  had  never  thought  of  Kem- 
sale  as  having  come  to  an  end,  in  any  way.  To  her  it  was  in 
the  full  flood  of  its  opulent  progression,  and  she  couldn't 
imagine  anything  more  splendid  than  the  figure  it  cut. 
"  It's  a  very  beautiful  house,"  she  said  again,  rather  weakly. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  my  cousin  Grace,"  said  Frank  to 
Anne.  "  She  is  a  dear  thing.  She  and  I  were  born  on  the 
same  day." 

"  She  has  been  to  see  mother,  but  I  wasn't  here,"  said 
Anne.  "  I  have  only  seen  her  in  church,  but  I  thought  she 
looked  very  sweet.  And  she  was  very  kind  when  she  came, 
wasn't  she,  mother  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  was,"  said  Mrs.  Sheard.  "  She  made  us  wel- 
come to  Kemsale.  Everybody  has  done  that.  Everybody 
has  been  very  kind." 

"  Do  she  and  Meadshire  get  on  with  the  new  people?  " 
asked  Frank. 


KEMSALE  RECTORY  253 

"  Katie  Brown  and  Mr.  Alfred — that's  Mr.  Brown's  son 
— know  Lady  Grace,  and  they  like  her  tremendously,"  said 
Anne. 

"  I  think  the  two  houses  have  not  come  together  yet," 
said  Mr.  Sheard.  "  There  are  certain  things  upon  which 
there  has  been  disagreement;  but  whatever  feeling  there 
may  be,  I  am  sure  that  it  will  die  down  very  soon.  Lady 
Grace  is  so  gentle  and  so  kind,  and  our  friends  at  the 
big  house  are  so  anxious  to  treat  everybody  in  the  place 
well,  that  they  really  want  the  same  things,  and  can't  keep 
apart  for  long.  We  shall  see  them  good  friends,  no  doubt, 
very  soon,  and  as  Anne  says,  the  young  people  up  at  the 
big  house  have  already  a  great  admiration  for  Lady  Grace." 

"  Grace  isn't  capable  of  bearing  enmity  to  anybody," 
said  Frank.  "  If  there  is  any,  it  must  be  Meadshire  who 
is  keeping  it  up.  But  he  never  keeps  up  anything  for 
long.  Tell  me  what  the  young  Browns  are  like.  Are  they 
both  here  now  ?  " 

He  had  turned  to  Anne  again.  It  seemed  rather  im- 
portant to  know  on  what  terms  she  stood  with  the  young 
Browns — or  at  least  with  one  of  them. 

"  Oh,  they're  very  nice,"  she  said,  "  and  very  lively. 
We  had  great  fun  when  we  were  staying  there,  and  we 
often  go  up  now  to  play  games  with  them." 

"  Yes,  they're  a  godsend,"  said  Charles.  "  Father,  I 
really  don't  think  there  would  be  any  harm  in  asking  Alfred 
about  the  fishing.  I  expect  he  would  like  to  fish  himself, 
if  it  were  suggested  to  him." 

"  He  loves  the  country,  and  doing  everything  that  peo- 
ple do  who  live  in  it,"  said  Anne.  "  And  so  do  we.  I  adore 
everything  to  do  with  the  country." 

As  Frank  rode  on  to  the  Herons'  Nest  later  in  the 
afternoon  he  found  himself  wondering  how  far  the  inti- 
macy between  Alfred  Brown  and  the  young  people  at  the 


254  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

rectory  had  extended.  He  had  not  been  able,  in  subse- 
quent conversation  with  Charles,  to  gather  whether  Alfred 
showed  himself  at  all  enamoured  of  Anne,  as  might  possibly 
have  been  expected  of  him  under  the  circumstances.  He 
could  have  seen  few  prettier  girls  anywhere,  and  whether 
enamoured  or  not  he  was  undoubtedly  on  terms  of  bright 
companionship  with  her  as  well  as  with  her  brothers. 
And  she  liked  him;  she  had  said  as  much  herself,  with  a 
smile  of  reminiscence  at  the  "  fun "  they  had  all  had 
together  that  had  struck  Frank  as  possibly  significant. 
Alfred  Brown  seemed  to  be  a  nice  sort  of  fellow,  by  all 
accounts;  there  was  no  sense  in  denying  that;  and  the 
enormous  wealth  at  his  back  was  certainly  no  drawback  to 
him,  even  if  these  honest  simple  Sheards  were  as  little 
affected  by  wealth  as  people  in  their  position  very  well 
could  be.  Frank  came  to  the  conclusion,  as  he  rode  up 
the  steep  road  to  the  Herons'  Nest,  that  it  was  no  business 
of  his,  but  that  it  would  be  rather  a  pity  if  Alfred  Brown 
fell  in  love  with  Anne  Sheard  and  she  with  him.  But  he 
had  no  time  to  explain  to  himself  why  it  seemed  to  him  that 
it  would  be  rather  a  pity. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  HERONS'  NEST 

GRACE  was  at  home,  and  she  was  alone.  She  gave  Frank 
the  warmest  greeting.  The  terms  they  were  on  were  more 
those  of  brother  and  sister  than  is  usual  between  cousins 
of  different  sexes.  Their  cousinship  only  derived  from 
Grace's  great-grandfather  having  married  a  Clinton  from 
Kencote;  but  the  proximity  of  the  two  houses,  and  other 
accidents,  had  kept  the  families  intimately  connected 
through  three  generations,  and  the  relationship  was  closer 
than  it  had  ever  been. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come  over,  Frank,"  Grace  said. 
"  I  hardly  saw  anything  of  you  the  other  day  at  Kencote, 
and  I  want  to  show  you  our  new  house.  But  why  didn't 
you  come  to  lunch?  Kem  has  gone  off  somewhere,  and  I 
have  been  by  myself  all  day." 

Frank  told  her  where  he  had  lunched,  and  why. 

"  I  had  no  idea  Mr.  Sheard  had  a  son  in  the  Navy," 
she  said  in  some  surprise. 

"  Charles  Sheard  told  me  that  his  godfather  had  seen 
him  through.  They're  awfully  nice  people,  Grace." 

"  I  like  Mr.  Sheard,"  she  said.  "  I  am  sure  he  is  a 
good  man.  But  Kem  is  furious  with  James  Compton  for 
putting  him  in  here." 

"Why?" 

"  Well,  he  did  everything  in  such  an  extraordinary  way. 
He  would  hardly  speak  to  Kem  after  the  sale  was  decided 
upon.  I  absolutely  refused  to  quarrel  with  him  myself, 
but  he  never  came  near  us  here,  and  if  I  hadn't  gone  down 

255 


256  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

to  the  rectory  when  I  heard  he  was  going,  he  wouldn't  even 
have  said  good-bye.  He  didn't  say  good-bye  to  Kem." 

"  But  why  is  Kem  annoyed  with  him  for  putting  Sheard 
in?" 

"  He  thinks  he  did  it  out  of  spite.  I  don't  think  that 
myself,  but  I  think  he  did  go  out  of  his  way  to  find  a 
man  as  unlike  himself  as  possible.  I  suppose  he  wanted  to 
show  us  what  we  had  brought  upon  ourselves." 

She  laughed,  but  Frank  took  the  information  seriously. 
"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  say  anything  against  a  relation 
of  yours,"  he  said,  "  and  I  hardly  knew  Compton ;  but 
I'd  a  great  deal  rather  have  the  Sheards  here  than  I'd 
have  him." 

"  I  think  they  will  do  very  well,"  she  said.  "  Now  I 
must  show  you  all  over  the  house  and  the  garden." 

It  was  as  charming  a  house  as  anybody  could  have  wished 
to  live  in.  It  was  built  upon  two  floors  only,  and  covered 
a  lot  of  ground.  There  were  spacious  rooms  in  it,  as  well 
as  a  great  many  of  moderate  size,  and  the  beautiful  things 
that  had  been  brought  from  Kemsale  to  furnish  it  had  been 
arranged  to  such  an  effect  as  to  give  it  an  air  more  settled 
than  the  newness  of  the  greater  part  of  it  would  have 
seemed  to  allow.  Kemsale  had  contained  such  abundant 
riches  that  nothing  had  come  out  of  it  that  was  not  good 
to  see  in  these  new  surroundings.  The  things  that  Grace 
had  not  been  able  to  buy  back  were  not  intrinsically  better 
than  those  she  and  her  brother  had  kept.  If  she  still 
missed  them  she  said  nothing  about  it  to  Frank,  who  told 
her  that  he  knew  little  about  these  things,  but  to  him 
the  Herons'  Nest  seemed  more  beautifully  furnished  than 
Kemsale  had  been. 

"  There  is  nothing  of  very  great  value  here,  as  there 
was  at  Kemsale,"  she  said,  "  but  we  picked  out  what  we 
liked  best,  and  of  course  it  is  more  concentrated.  I  am 


THE  HERONS'  NEST  257 

so  glad  you  like  it,  Frank;  I  think  we  have  made  a  success 
of  it.  Kem  has  been  very  interested.  He  says  he  wishes 
he  had  let  Kemsale  and  come  to  live  here  when  he  first 
succeeded.  He  likes  it  ever  so  much  better." 

"  How  is  Kem  in  these  days  ?  "  asked  Frank. 

The  way  in  which  he  put  his  question  made  it  plain 
to  what  he  referred.  He  could  talk  to  Grace  about  it;  they 
had  talked  together  about  it  before. 

"  Oh,  he  has  been  quite  all  right  since  we  came  here, 
more  than  six  months  ago  now,"  she  said  eagerly.  "  I  am 
so  deeply  thankful,  Frank.  Dear  Kem!  He  has  had 
such  a  lot  to  fight  against,  and  he  is  so  kind  and  good 
when  he  is  entirely  himself.  I  would  never  have  thought 
that  he  would  have  been  happy  and  contented  living  quietly 
here  with  me  for  as  long  as  he  has.  Do  you  know  that  he 
has  only  slept  out  of  the  house  once  since  we  came?  He 
went  up  to  London  just  after  Christmas,  and  I  was  so 
afraid  of  what  might  happen.  But  he  came  back  the  next 
day,  and  said  he  liked  being  here  better  than  anywhere.  I 
could  have  cried  for  joy.  And  every  month  that  passes 
makes  me  hope  still  more  that  he  is  getting  over  his 
temptations  at  last.  Poor  Kem !  " 

"  That's  very  good  hearing,  Grace.  What  does  he  do 
with  himself?  " 

"  He  is  immensely  interested  in  making  the  garden.  I 
should  never  have  thought  he  would  have  taken  to  that, 
but  he  works  at  it  with  his  own  hands.  And  he  is  out  in 
his  car  a  great  deal.  He  reads  too,  which  he  never  did 
before.  He  seems  to  enjoy  the  quietest  sort  of  life.  He 
doesn't  even  want  to  have  people  stay  here.  And  he 
looks  ever  so  much  better.  Now  you  must  come  and  see 
the  garden,  Frank." 

The  house  was  built  on  a  plateau,  part  natural,  part 
excavated  from  the  rock.  It  faced  west,  but  its  chief  living- 


258  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

rooms  were  at  the  back,  and  opened  on  to  a  broad  terrace, 
which  hung  over  the  gorge.  It  provided  a  view  of  the 
chief  fall  of  water,  as  well  as  a  glimpse  of  the  blue  country 
to  the  south  through  the  gap.  It  was  a  surprising  scene 
to  come  upon  in  this  country.  Nothing  could  be  seen  close 
at  hand  from  the  terrace  but  rocks  and  pines,  and  the 
miniature  mountain  terrace.  It  was  difficult  to  imagine 
one's  self  in  the  heart  of  such  a  county  as  Meadshire. 

Frank  exclaimed  in  admiration.  "  I  didn't  remember 
that  it  was  half  as  jolly  as  this,"  he  said.  "  You  might 
be  in  the  Rockies.  But  where's  the  garden,  Grace?  " 

"  Look  over,"  she  said. 

The  greater  part  of  the  terrace  was  cut  out  of  the  living 
rock.  It  was  bounded  by  a  rough  stone  wall,  and  beneath 
this  wall  paths  and  steps  had  been  cut  out  of  the  rock, 
running  here  and  there  along  its  face  and  leading  down 
to  the  water  at  the  bottom  of  the  gorge.  Here  was  a  natural 
rock-garden,  already  gay  with  drifts  and  patches  of  colour. 

"  You  must  remember  that  it  has  only  just  been  planted," 
she  said.  "  Next  year  the  things  will  have  spread  tre- 
mendously, and  it  will  be  a  lovely  sight.  I  don't  think 
there  will  be  many  rock-gardens  in  England  to  beat  it;  it 
is  all  so  natural,  and  we  can  go  on  with  it  to  any  extent. 
Now  you  must  come  and  look  at  the  flowers.  We  have  all 
sorts  of  rarities,  and  are  both  getting  very  learned  upon 
how  to  grow  them." 

Frank  showed  as  much  interest  in  the  flowers  as  his  state 
of  ignorance  upon  such  matters  allowed,  and  they  went  up 
and  down  the  rocky  paths  and  stairs,  and  then  to  the  upper 
parts  of  the  gorge,  where  the  more  ordinary  parts  of  the 
garden  lay,  or  were  in  the  making.  "  I  believe  I  should 
take  to  this  game  myself  if  I  ever  settled  down  ashore," 
was  Frank's  gratifying  comment  on  what  he  had  been 
shown,  when  the  inspection  was  over  and  they  returned  to 


THE  HERONS'  NEST  259 

seats  on  the  terrace.  "  I  think  you've  done  it  awfully 
well.  On  the  whole  I  should  say  it  was  more  fun  living 
here  than  at  Kemsale." 

Grace  sighed.  "  I  shouldn't  feel  leaving  Kemsale  a  bit, 
if  the  Herons'  Nest  had  been  in  quite  a  different  part  of 
the  country,"  she  said. 

"  I'm  glad  it  isn't,  for  our  sake.  But  of  course  it  must 
be  a  bore  having  those  new  rich  people  there,  and  not  being 
able  to  get  away  from  them.  What  are  they  really  like, 
Grace?  The  Sheards  can't  speak  too  highly  of  them." 

She  did  not  answer  immediately,  and  then  said,  with  a 
shade  of  unwillingness:  "  I  think  Mr.  Sheard  is  a  good 
honest  hard-working  man,  and  will  do  well  as  Rector  of 
Kemsale;  but  being  what  they  are  they  are  likely  to  be 
over-impressed  by  people  like  the  Browns,  who  are  enor- 
mously rich  and  rather  ostentatious;  and  it  is  perhaps 
natural  that  they  should  wish  to  keep  in  well  with  them." 

Frank  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "  My  dear  girl,"  he  said, 
"  that's  the  first  time  I  have  ever  heard  you  say  anything 
uncharitable  about  anybody.  They  speak  in  a  very  differ- 
ent way  about  you." 

She  blushed  and  looked  deeply  distressed.  "  Oh,  I 
don't  want  to  be  uncharitable,"  she  said,  "  but  one  can't 
help  feeling  a  little  sore  about  certain  things.  I  don't 
really  know  them.  I  have  met  the  son  and  daughter,  and 
I  think  they  are  nice;  but " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  the  Browns ;  I  mean  the  Sheards. 
You  have  quite  misunderstood  them,  Grace.  I  don't  believe 
they'd  go  an  inch  out  of  their  way  to  keep  in  with  rich 
people,  as  you  say.  I  should  think  Sheard  was  quite  as 
independent  as  Compton,  and  with  very  much  less  to  sup- 
port his  independence  on." 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  be  uncharitable  towards  the 
Sheards  either,  dear  Frank.  I  don't  think  I  am.  But  one 


260  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

must  look  facts  in  the  face.  I  did  find  Mrs.  Sheard  very 
much  inclined  to  talk  about  the  Browns  and  their  grandeur. 
Of  her  class  she  is  a  thoroughly  nice  woman,  I  am  sure,  and 
it  is  because  of  her  class  that  one  needn't  think  much  of 
her  talking  in  a  way  that  would  mean  something  quite 
different  if  she  were  of  ours." 

It  was  unpleasant  to  Frank  to  have  Mrs.  Sheard's  class 
thus  assigned  to  her;  it  reflected  on  the  delightful  Anne, 
who  would  have  adorned  any  class.  Nevertheless,  Grace's 
logic  was  unassailable.  Mrs.  Sheard's  innocent  wonder- 
ment at  the  revelations  of  wealth  that  had  been  made  to 
her  was  only  innocuous  if  she  placed  herself  quite  below 
the  level  on  which  admiration  of  wealth  would  be  an  ugly 
quality  to  display.  And  if  she  did  so  place  herself,  as 
undoubtedly  she  did,  there  could  be  no  offence  in  accepting 
her  own  view  of  herself. 

"  I'm  quite  sure  you're  wrong  in  thinking  that  Mrs. 
Sheard,  or  any  of  them,  would  run  after  people  because 
they  are  rich,"  Frank  said.  "  They  are  very  simple  people 
in  their  ways,  of  course;  they  can't  ever  have  had  much 
money,  and  they're  are  not  ashamed  of  it.  I  admire  them 
for  the  way  they've  settled  down  here  exactly  as  it  suits 
them  to  live.  As  for  these  rich  Browns,  they  seem  to  have 
behaved  very  well  to  them,  putting  them  up  while  they 
were  moving,  and  wanting  to  do  more  for  them  than  they 
would  accept.  Charles,  my  friend,  told  me  that.  They're 
very  careful  about  keeping  their  independence." 

"  Well,  then,  I  think  I  must  have  been  mistaken  about 
them,  Frank,  and  I'm  sorry  I  said  what  I  did.  They  have 
a  very  pretty  daughter.  Did  you  see  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  was  there.  I  think  she's  one  of  the  prettiest 
girls  I  have  ever  seen.  And  she  admires  you  tremendously, 
Grace.  She  has  seen  you  in  church." 

"  I  must  go  and  see  them  again  and  make  friends  with 


THE  HERONS'  NEST  261 

her.  I  love  young  things,  and  I'm  glad  there's  a  family  at 
the  rectory.  I  did  like  Mrs.  Sheard.  I  don't  think  I 
should  have  thought  anything  of  her  speaking  in  the  way 
she  did  about  the  Browns  if  I  hadn't  wanted  not  to  hear 
about  them  at  all.  But  I'm  beginning  to  think  that  one 
won't  be  able  to  keep  away  from  them,  and  one  might  as 
well  make  up  one's  mind  to  make  the  best  of  them." 

"You've  met  the  son  and  daughter,  haven't  you?  You 
seem  to  have  made  as  deep  an  impression  upon  them  as  you 
have  on  little  Miss  Sheard.  She  told  me  so.  They  had  told 
her.  It's  no  use  your  trying  to  stand  out  against  people, 
Grace.  They  won't  let  you." 

"  It  is  very  nice  to  be  liked,"  she  said  with  a  smile. 
"  I'm  afraid  I  didn't  take  much  pains  to  make  young  Mr. 
Brown  and  his  sister  like  me.  I  was  rather  struck  witli 
both  of  them,  really.  The  girl  is  a  happy  warm-hearted 
little  thing,  and  the  young  man  is  straightforward  and 
amiable.  No ;  I  should  be  quite  ready  to  make  friends  with 
them.  I  don't  think  it  would  be  so  easy  with  the  father 
and  mother,  and  Kem  is  so  up  in  arms  against  them  about 
everything,  that  I  think  he  would  throw  me  over  if  I 
were  to  try  to." 

At  this  point  Meadshire  himself  arrived  upon  the  scene. 
His  welcome  of  Frank  was  almost  vociferous.  He  seemed 
full  of  life  and  energy.  The  unpleasant  appearance  of 
over-indulgence  had  departed  from  his  face;  his  eye  was 
clear,  and  his  skin  only  red  from  the  sun. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  the  rock-garden,  Frank?" 
he  asked  at  once.  "  You've  never  seen  anything  like  it 
before,  I  know.  It  was  Grace's  idea  to  begin  with,  but 
I've  carried  most  of  it  out.  Now  we're  beginning  to  get 
our  reward.  I  tell  you,  I  wouldn't  be  away  from  it  in  the 
spring,  for  long,  for  any  fun  you  could  offer  me.  I've  be- 
come a  country  potterer,  my  boy.  I  go  to  bed  early;  I 


262  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

get  up  early;  and  all  through  the  winter  I  was  slinging 
rocks  about,  and  working  like  a  navvy." 

"  It  seems  to  have  done  you  a  world  of  good,  Kem. 
You're  looking  ten  years  younger  than  when  I  saw  you 
last." 

"  Oh,  I'm  a  reformed  character.  But  I'm  doing  a  little 
mischief  too.  I'm  putting  spokes  in  the  wheel  of  Mr. 
Banknotes  Brown,  who  has  come  down  here  to  upset  every 
mortal  thing  in  the  place.  I  tell  you,  it's  quite  pathetic 
the  way  the  people  cling  to  me  and  Grace.  I  can't  do 
much  for  them  now,  worse  luck,  but  it  makes  me  feel  a 
good  boy  to  go  and  sit  with  them  and  hold  their  hands,  and 
listen  to  all  their  dismal  tales.  What  do  you  think  the 
fool's  doing  now?  Turning  all  the  tenants  out  of  their 
farms  at  the  Ganton  end,  and  making  plans  for  a  great 
butter  factory  to  which  they've  got  to  send  their  milk." 

"  Yes,  we've  heard  something  about  that  at  Kencote. 
But  I  don't  quite  see  how  they're  going  to  send  their  milk 
to  his  factory  if  he  turns  them  out." 

"  Oh,  well ;  he's  going  to  put  his  own  people  in.  They've 
got  to  work  their  farms  according  to  his  ideas.  A  fat 
lot  he's  likely  to  know  about  dairying!  When  he's  made 
a  mess  of  it,  and  lost  a  pot  of  money,  you'll  see,  he'll  turn 
out  the  people  he's  put  in  just  as  sharp  as  he's  turned  out 
the  others;  and  he'll  want  to  get  the  right  sort  of  people 
back;  and  he  won't  get  'em,  unless  they're  bigger  fools 
than  he  is." 

"  He  hasn't  turned  everybody  out,  Kem,"  said  Grace. 
"  The  Davises  are  staying  on ;  and  the  Blakes ;  and  I  think 
the  Pettifers." 

"  The  Pettifers  aren't.  I've  just  been  there.  They 
asked  me  what  I  thought  about  it  all,  and  I  told  them.  '  I 
wish  I'd  got  a  farm  of  my  own  to  put  you  in,'  I  said.  '  But 
there  are  plenty  of  farms  to  be  taken  under  landlords  who 


THE  HERONS'  NEST  263 

know  their  business,  and  don't  want  to  play  old  Harry 
with  their  land.  If  you  do  stay,'  I  said,  '  you  employ  a 
jolly  sharp  lawyer  and  fix  the  gentleman  down  in  black- 
and-white,  so  that  when  his  precious  scheme  comes  to  an  end 
you  won't  get  left.'  However,  they're  not  going  to  risk 
it.  They're  leaving.  A  beastly  shame  I  call  it.  The 
Pettifers  have  been  there  ever  since  I  was  a  boy.  So  have 
the  Davises,  of  course,  but  he  seems  to  have  talked  them 
round.  John  Davis  is  all  for  it,  and  had  the  cheek  to 
tell  me  that  they  expected  to  do  better  under  Mr.  Bank- 
notes Brown  than  they  did  under  us.  That's  human  nature, 
I  suppose.  They've  been  at  Kemsale  almost  as  long  as  we 
have,  made  pots  of  money  out  of  their  farm  in  good  times, 
and  never  had  their  rent  raised  a  halfpenny.  Now  we're 
down  and  no  good  to  them  any  longer,  they  go  over  bag  and 
baggage  to  the  new  fellow.  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more 
about  the  Davises.  I've  done  with  them." 

"  Dear  Kem,  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  go  about  stirring 
up  people  against  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Grace.  "  It  isn't  true 
that  he  is  turning  everybody  out.  On  other  parts  of  the 
estate  most  of  the  farming  tenants  are  being  allowed  to 
renew  their  agreements  if  they  wish  to,  and  there  has  been 
scarcely  any  change  made  in  the  cottages.  Miss  Merriman 
is  staying  on  at  '  The  Limes,'  and  Captain  Fuller  told  her 
that  it  was  by  Mr.  Brown's  wish.  So  we  certainly  did  him 
an  injustice  there.  The  people  are  settling  down,  and  are 
prepared  to  see  how  things  will  work  out.  It  ought  not 
to  be  we  who  upset  them." 

But  Meadshire  would  not  take  this  view.  "  They'll  set- 
tle down  for  a  year,  perhaps,  and  then  all  the  trouble  will 
come  over  again,"  he  said.  "  This  is  only  the  beginning 
of  his  ridiculous  experiments.  He'll  be  trying  for  coal 
somewhere,  next.  Besides,  I'm  not  upsetting  anybody. 
The  people  all  know  me,  and  they're  only  too  pleased  to 


264  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

talk.     If  they  ask  my  advice,  I  give  it  to  'em.     I  can't  be 
blamed  for  that."        , 

"  If  you're  not  careful  you'll  have  Mr.  Brown  suing  you 
for  libel,  or  scandal,  or  whatever  it  is,"  said  Frank.  "  I 
should  leave  him  alone  if  I  were  you,  Kem." 


CHAPTER  XXI 
RECOGNITION 

"  Now,  Mr.  Brown,  I  want  to  hear  all  about  this  dairying 
scheme  of  yours.  We  needn't  go  in  to  the  ladies  just  yet. 
We'll  have  it  all  out.  Let  me  fill  your  glass." 

The  Squire  had  moved  down  to  the  other  end  of  the 
table,  decanters  in  hand.  The  Browns  had  come  over  to 
Kencote  to  dine,  all  four  of  them.  Dick  and  Virginia, 
and  Jim  Graham  and  Cicely,  had  been  asked  to  meet  them. 
It  was  a  party  of  recognition,  and  had  so  far  passed  off 
fairly  well.  The  Squire  had  seen  Mrs.  Brown's  well- 
decked  back  pass  through  the  door  with  a  sense  of  relief, 
for  he  had  found  her  very  heavy  in  hand,  and  Mrs.  Clinton 
had  not  succeeded  in  establishing  relations  of  any  cordiality 
with  Armitage  Brown.  But  the  younger  generation  had 
talked  and  laughed  freely  enough  during  dinner.  Alfred 
and  Katie  had  justified  their  inclusion  in  the  party. 

Armitage  Brown  passed  his  hand  over  his  heavy  mous- 
tache. He  was  struck  with  sudden  amusement  at  being  told 
to  stand  and  deliver  by  this  old  country  squire,  who  had 
treated  him  with  hearty  hospitality,  but  not  without  a  hint 
of  condescension.  He  had  become  used  to  being  approached 
about  his  schemes,  but  in  a  very  different  manner.  How- 
ever, as  he  wanted  to  talk  to  Mr.  Clinton  about  this  one, 
one  method  of  approach  was  as  good  as  another. 

It  may  be  supposed  that,  with  his  record,  he  was  not 
unversed  in  presenting  a  statement  in  such  a  way  as  to 
attract  those  who  were  already  interested  in  its  subject. 
On  the  financial  side  of  any  scheme  he  could  speak  with 

265 


266  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

a  clearness  and  authority  that  was  bound  to  carry  weight. 
At  the  end  of  his  preliminary  exposition,  which  had  been 
listened  to  without  interruption,  he  stood  before  his  hearers 
no  longer  as  the  rich  Londoner  who  had  been  tentatively 
received  as  a  country  neighbour,  to  be  politely  dropped  if 
he  failed  to  come  up  to  their  mark,  but  as  the  man  who 
made  money  as  if  by  magic,  which  was  the  way  in  which 
he  was  generally  regarded  by  the  world  outside. 

The  Squire  was  particularly  struck  by  his  speech,  and 
the  qualities  in  him  which  it  revealed.  He  so  seldom  came 
into  contact  with  power  based  upon  anything  but  the  acci- 
dents that  brought  the  kind  which  he  enjoyed  himself;  but 
he  recognised  it  here.  He  no  longer  felt  any  inclination  to 
patronise  his  guest.  He  remembered  what  a  reputation 
this  man  bore,  and  had  been  brought  by  the  cold  mastery 
of  phrase  he  had  used  to  recognise  it  as  effective.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  exposition  he  had  been  ready  to 
criticise  it  from  every  point  of  view ;  at  the  end  he  was 
feeling  rather  flattered  at  being  taken  into  the  confidence 
of  a  great  financier,  and  was  searching  in  his  mind  for 
points  which  would  display  any  knowledge  that  he  might 
have  of  his  own. 

Dick  and  Jim  Graham  were  also  impressed.  They  had 
already  talked  the  matter  over  between  themselves  and 
agreed  that  whatever  the  scheme  might  be  it  was  not  likely, 
originated  by  such  a  man  as  this,  to  fail  at  its  business  end ; 
which  was  a  considerable  admission  for  men  of  their  preju- 
dices to  make.  If  Armitage  Brown  was  prepared  to  spend 
a  large  sum  of  money  in  building  and  equipping  a  butter 
factory  on  the  outskirts  of  Ganton,  he  had  probably  satis- 
fied himself  that  that  was  a  suitable  place  for  it;  and, 
assuming  that  he  could  obtain  his  supplies,  he  was  prob- 
ably capable  of  making  it  pay.  They  were  helped  to  this 
opinion  by  the  fact  that  they  also  thought  the  place  suit- 


RECOGNITION  £6? 

able  and  the  supplies  quite  possible  to  get.  What  they 
had  both  of  them  doubted  was  the  financier's  ability  to 
organise  the  supplies.  Very  many  considerations  came  in 
there  of  which  he  must  be  entirely  ignorant.  They  were 
both  prepared  to  watch  closely  for  signs  of  that  ignorance, 
and  to  concentrate  their  criticism  on  it.  The  criticism 
would  not  be  destructive;  they  were  inclined  to  encour- 
age the  scheme,  if  it  were  put  on  a  sound  footing,  for 
they  saw  profit  in  it  both  for  Kencote  and  Mountfield. 
But  it  would  be  searching.  In  the  talk  that  was  going 
about,  there  was  more  than  a  hint  of  the  faddy  experi- 
ments that  a  new  rich  man  who  knew  nothing  about  the  land 
would  be  likely  to  try  when  he  had  turned  himself  into  a 
landowner.  This  new  rich  man  was  to  be  shown  that  he 
had  everything  to  learn  upon  that  side  of  his  scheme. 

But  apparently  he  hadn't.  The  explanation  was  only 
in  outline,  and  dealt  more  with  the  handling  of  supplies 
than  with  their  source ;  but  it  was  quite  as  well-informed 
on  the  points  which  their  special  knowledge  enabled  them 
to  test  as  upon  the  others.  As  Dick  said  to  Jim  afterwards : 
"  You'd  have  thought  the  fellow  had  milked  cows  all  his 
life." 

The  statement  came  to  an  end  suddenly.  Not  a  word 
had  been  said  to  invite  co-operation  or  even  approval. 
The  facts  were  left  to  talk  for  themselves.  "  That's  how 
I  see  it,"  said  Armitage  Brown;  but  added,  as  he  raised 
his  cigar  to  his  lips:  "But  naturally  I'm  liable  to  error 
when  it  comes  to  dealing  with  the  land.  That's  where  I 
look  to  you  for  expert  opinion." 

These  words  did  almost  as  much  for  him  as  all  his  pre- 
vious ones.  The}7  put  him  absolutely  right  with  his  hearers. 
He  had  shown  his  mastery  over  detail,  but  was  still  willing 
to  learn  from  them. 

"  It  doesn't   seem  to  me  as   if  you  are  liable  to  much 


268 

error,"  said  the  Squire  handsomely.  "  You  must  have 
taken  a  lot  of  trouble  to  get  at  your  facts,  and  as  far  as 
I'm  able  to  judge,  you've  got  at  them  remarkably  well. 
What  do  you  think,  Dick  ?  " 

"  I  like  the  idea,"  said  Dick.  "  It  has  been  closely 
worked  out;  of  course  one  would  expect  that  from  Mr. 
Brown;  and  he  has  given  us  something  definite  to  go  upon. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  I  think  we  are  more  ready  for  it  here 
than  he  is  at  Kemsale.  It's  a  question  of  getting  the 
farmers  to  go  in  at  first." 

"  You  have  more  grass  here,  I  know,"  said  Armitage 
Brown.  "  I've  seen  that.  But  I  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't 
get  as  much  grass  on  our  side." 

A  long  discussion  followed,  in  which  the  Squire  and 
Dick  took  the  greater  part,  the  Squire  displaying  consid- 
erable knowledge,  but  apt  to  go  off  into  irrelevancies,  Dick 
bringing  him  back  to  the  point,  and  working  things  out 
by  degrees  in  a  way  that  showed  him  clear-headed  and 
with  a  grasp  of  his  subject,  if  rather  slow  at  coming  to 
conclusions.  After  a  time,  Armitage  Brown  paid  no  more 
than  perfunctory  attention  to  the  Squire,  but  had  his  eye 
on  Dick  all  the  time,  sizing  him  up,  testing  him  by  little 
speeches  and  questions  thrown  in,  and  gaining  as  it  seemed 
a  respect  for  him  which  he  had  hardly  thought  would  be 
called  for. 

"  Well,  you  can  teach  me  a  lot,"  he  said.  "  You  have 
taught  me  a  good  deal  already.  A  scheme  like  this  may 
look  all  right  on  paper,  but  unless  it  takes  in  all  the  factors 
that  you  know  about  and  I  don't,  it  may  be  all  wrong." 

It  was  doubtful  whether  Dick  had  taught  him  very  much 
that  was  of  importance.  He  had  been  racking  all  available 
brains  for  a  fortnight,  including  John  Davis's,  whose  intel- 
ligence was  as  great  as  Dick's  and  his  practical  experience 
greater.  John  Davis  had  become  his  enthusiastic  lieuten- 


RECOGNITION  269 

ant,  and  had  even  brought  his  own  father  to  the  belief  that 
Points  Manor  was  about  to  recover  some  of  its  ancient 
glories.  But  perhaps  he  had  been  won  over  by  some  such 
judicious  sops  to  his  self-esteem  as  were  now  being  offered 
to  Dick.  Armitage  Brown  knew  very  well  how  to  admin- 
ister them  where  it  was  worth  his  while  to  do  so. 

"Are  you  going  to  try  the  share  system?"  asked  Jim 
Graham.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  spoken. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  the  share  system?"  asked 
Armitage  Brown  in  some  surprise.  He  had  taken  no 
notice  of  Jim  whatever,  putting  him  down  as  of  no  im- 
portance in  the  discussion. 

"  Oh,  I've  been  in  Australia.  It  works  well  there.  If 
you  start  your  factory,  I  shall  probably  cut  up  one  of 
my  farms,  if  I  can  find  the  capital  to  do  it.  It  will  bring 
people  back  to  the  land." 

"  Have  you  got  land  near  here,  sir?  " 

"  I  shall  be  within  your  radius,  with  a  co-operative 
motor-lorry." 

Armitage  Brown  laughed.  "  Here's  another  gentleman 
that  can  teach  me  something,"  he  said.  "  Don't  you  worry 
about  capital,  Mr.  Graham.  If  you've  got  the  land  and 
are  prepared  to  use  it  in  that  way,  you  can  have  all  the 
capital  you  want.  Yes;  I've  gone  into  the  share  system; 
only  on  paper,  of  course.  If  you've  seen  it  in  practice, 
I  should  like  to  go  into  it  with  you.  I'm  going  to  try  it 
on  one  of  my  own  farms." 

"What  is  the  share  system?"  asked  the  Squire,  who 
was  inclined  to  be  suspicious  of  this  talk  of  cutting  up 
farms.  Jim,  for  all  his  steadiness  and  slowness,  had  a 
few  Radical  crotchets  in  his  head,  and  it  was  not  to  be 
supposed  that  Mr.  Armitage  Brown  would  be  without  them, 
in  spite  of  the  unexpected  soundness  he  had  hitherto 
displayed. 


270  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  As  it  is  worked  in  Australia/'  said  Jim,  "  it  means 
that  the  landlord  provides  everything — land,  buildings, 
herd,  and  so  on — and  takes  his  proportion  of  the  profits. 
The  holdings  are  mostly  small,  because  there's  a  difficulty 
about  regular  labour  there;  but  a  man  with  a  family  can 
make  a  handsome  living  out  of  a  few  acres." 

"  That  means  cottage-building,"  said  the  Squire.  "  If 
you  once  start  that  on  any  scale  your  done.  What  farm 
were  you  thinking  of  cutting  up  at  Kemsale,  Mr.  Brown?  " 

Armitage  Brown  probably  had  his  own  reasons  for  an- 
swering this  question  directly.  "  Warren's  Farm,"  he  said. 

"  Warren's  ?  That's  Pettifer's  farm.  He  has  been  there 
a  great  many  years.  Is  Pettifer  going?  " 

"  I  don't  know  yet.     I  gave  him  the  chance  of  coming  in." 

"  I  don't  think  he  would  be  much  use,"  said  Dick.  "  Old 
Cousin  Humphrey  only  let  him  stay  on,  father,  because 
he  had  a  large  family." 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  the  Squire  rather  unwillingly. 
"  Still,  one  doesn't  like  to  think  of  old  tenants  being  shown 
the  door." 

"  I  felt  the  same,"  said  Armitage  Brown.  "  I've  given 
all  those  on  the  six  farms  I  mentioned  to  you  the  chance 
of  staying  on,  of  course  on  condition  that  they  would  work 
in  with  me.  I  should  do  all  I  could  to  help  them.  But  I 
rather  fancy  Lord  Meadshire  has  persuaded  Mr.  Pettifer 
that  he'll  do  better  for  himself  if  he  clears  out.  He'll  cer- 
tainly do  better  for  me;  but  I  was  careful  not  to  say  that." 

There  was  a  silence,  and  then  Frank  laughed.  It  was 
only  a  few  days  since  he  had  paid  his  visit  to  the  Herons' 
Nest. 

"  The  sooner  Meadshire  learns  to  mind  his  own  business 
the  better,"  growled  the  Squire.  "  I'll  take  the  liberty 
of  telling  him  so  the  next  time  I  see  him." 

The  Browns  left  punctually  at  half-past  ten.     Cicely's 


RECOGNITION  271 

carriage  had  not  been  ordered  until  eleven.  On  such 
occasions  as  this  the  Squire  liked  a  final  conversation  with 
the  men  of  his  family  over  a  cigar.  But  he  did  not  suggest 
an  immediate  adjournment  to  his  room  when  he  had  hos- 
pitably seen  his  guests  off  at  the  door;  he  went  back  into 
the  drawing-room. 

"  Well,  I  think  these  people  will  do/'  he  said  largely, 
looking  round  upon  his  womenfolk  there  assembled. 

"  Alfred  and  Katie  will/'  said  Joan.  "  Alfred  and 
Katie  are  treasures." 

It  might  have  been  supposed  that  an  opinion  upon 
Alfred  and  Katie  was  not  exactly  what  he  had  asked  for. 
They  and  Joan  and  Cicely  and  Frank  had  spent  most 
of  the  evening  at  a  table  apart  from  the  groups  made  by 
the  rest,  playing  games,  and  the  talk  and  laughter  that 
had  come  from  it  had  'only  not  disturbed  conversation 
because  the  room  was  so  large.  The  Squire  had  once  or 
twice  gone  over  and  stood  by  them,  and  had  seemed  by 
his  reception  of  Joan's  remark  to  have  given  more  atten- 
tion to  his  younger  guests  than  might  have  been  expected 
of  him. 

"  The  girl  struck  me  as  a  very  nice  girl,"  he  said.  "  Not 
pretty  exactly,  but  bright  and  sensible.  We  shall  always 
be  glad  to  see  her  here  when  she  likes  to  come." 

"  Oh,  and  Alfred  too,"  said  Joan.  "  I  adore  Alfred. 
He  is  full  of  character.  He  hates  being  rich." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  that  ?  "  asked  Frank. 

"  No,  I  found  it  out  for  myself.  I  found  out  a  lot 
about  him.  Mother  darling,  did  you  tell  Mrs.  Brown  we 
were  expecting  Royalty?  She  was  a  diamond  shop." 

But  the  Squire,  apparently,  did  not  wish  to  hear  Mrs. 
Brown  discussed.  "  I  like  that  girl  very  much,"  he  said 
again.  "  You  seemed  to  find  no  difficulty  in  making  friends 
with  her,  Frank — what?  " 


272  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  We'll  make  up  a  match  between  Frank  and  Katie," 
said  Joan.  "  Then  I  shall  have  Alfred  as  a  sort  of 
brother-in-law." 

"  You're  letting  your  tongue  run  away  with  you,  Miss 
Joan,"  said  the  Squire,  quite  in  his  old-time  style  of 
rebuke.  "  Well,  we'll  go  and  have  a  cigar  in  my  room. 
You  don't  want  to  go  off  just  yet,  Cicely?  That's  right." 

Talk  over  the  cigars  was  not  entirely  on  the  subject  of 
the  dairying  scheme,  although  that  was  the  point  from 
which  it  started.  Armitage  Brown,  without  apparent  effort 
on  his  part,  had  succeeded  in  impressing  his  personality 
upon  the  three  elder  men,  who  were  each  a  little  excited 
at  having  come  into  contact  with  him.  Jim  Graham  was 
the  only  one  of  the  three  whose  command  of  money  was 
less  than  was  convenient  for  the  way  in  which  he  lived, 
and  the  things  he  wanted  to  do.  The  excitement  he  felt 
was  at  the  prospect  of  carrying  out  an  idea  of  the  kind 
that  he  had  often  considered  in  connection  with  his  estate, 
but  had  been  too  cautious  to  try  at  the  expense  of  bur- 
dening it  with  mortgages.  Now  these  difficulties  were  to 
disappear.  The  millionaire  had  swept  them  away,  with 
a  laugh.  And  he  was  backing  the  scheme  himself,  with 
his  genius  as  well  as  his  wealth,  on  the  side  on  which 
Jim  would  have  been  powerless.  His  imagination  went 
no  further  than  the  idea  by  which  he  knew  he  would  profit, 
on  the  lines  on  which  all  his  quiet  steady  work  were  set. 
But  Armitage  Brown's  advent  into  his  life  was  a  stirring 
event  viewed  from  that  standpoint  alone. 

Neither  the  Squire  nor  Dick  had  any  need  of  more 
money  than  they  possessed  already.  Each  of  them  lived 
exactly  the  life  that  suited  him,  and  spent  less  than  his 
income.  But  the  Squire  liked  the  "  feel  "  of  money,  not 
in  elaborate  expenditure,  which  he  was  inclined  to  depre- 
cate, unless  it  was  in  support  of  legitimate  state,  but  for 


RECOGNITION  273 

the  sense  of  power  that  it  brought.  The  almost  unlimited 
wealth  with  which  Armitage  Brown  was  generally  credited 
made  a  personage  of  him.  The  Squire  had  not  quite  real- 
ised how  much  of  a  personage  he  was,  hitherto;  but  now 
he  did.  He  had  recognised  some  of  his  quality.  He 
was  a  man  to  cultivate. 

Dick  was  very  much  like  his  father  in  essentials,  but 
with  a  clearer  head  and  a  wider  knowledge  of  the  world. 
He  was  the  least  moved  of  the  three  by  contact  with  the 
millionaire,  but  he  was  not  unmoved.  He  had  had  a  glimpse 
of  the  workings  of  a  mind  that  coins  money  out  of  every 
combination  of  facts  that  it  takes  in,  where  other  minds 
only  use  them  for  idle  amusement.  It  had  stimulated  his 
own  mind.  The  activities  in  which  he  contentedly  spent 
his  days  seemed  rather  poor  and  dull  beside  the  workings 
that  brought  such  royal  harvests. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  "  that  this  fellow  can  teach 
us  something  about  the  land  after  all." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  Squire.  "  He 
seems  pretty  sharp  at  picking  up  information,  but  what 
he  said  was  that  we  should  have  to  teach  him.  I  rather 
liked  that  in  him.  I  hadn't  expected  it.  These  new  rich 
fellows  generally  think  that  if  they've  read  a  few  news- 
paper articles  they  can  start  straight  off  and  teach  people 
who've  been  connected  with  the  land  all  their  lives." 

"  We'd  better  get  it  out  of  our  minds  that  he's  a  new 
rich  fellow,"  said  Dick.  "  He  isn't  particularly  new  as 
far  as  his  riches  go,  and  that's  what  matters  to  us  if 
we're  going  to  take  advantage  of  his  ideas.  As  for  his 
not  being  what  we've  been  used  to  having  at  Kemsale, 
tliai'o  all  done  with  now,  and  we  needn't  worry  about  it 
any  longer.  They're  not  bad  sort  of  people  to  have  there ; 
we  might  have  been  much  worse  off." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  Squire.     "  They'll  do  very  well.     I 


274  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

don't  care  for  the  lady  much,  but  there's  no  fault  to  find 
with  the  young  people.  I  thought  the  girl  was  a  particu- 
larly nice  girl." 

"  The  way  I  look  at  it/'  said  Dick,  who  was  not  inter- 
ested in  the  girl,  "  is  that  what  we  know  about  the  land 
and  he  doesn't  is  the  least  important  part  of  the  business. 
It  wouldn't  be  if  he  left  it  out  of  account;  but  he  doesn't. 
He'll  use  all  we  can  tell  him.  We're  the  experts,  and  I 
suppose  men  in  his  line  of  life  are  always  using  experts, 
and  know  how  to  use  them.  But  they  manage  their  busi- 
nesses themselves." 

The  Squire  did  not  quite  follow  this.  "  I  haven't  got 
as  far  as  seeing  him  manage  mine,"  he  said. 

"  No,  but  he'll  bring  us  in  new  ideas.  Probably  what 
he  thinks  of  us  is  that  we  hate  new  ideas.  We  don't. 
We're  always  ready  for  them,  if  they  fit  in  with  what 
we  know." 

"  There  isn't  much  wrong  with  this  dairying  idea  of  his." 

"  Well,  see  how  he's  worked  that  out.  Left  no  stone 
unturned  to  get  every  bit  of  information  available.  Went 
over  to  Denmark  and  looked  into  everything,  just  as  we 
should  go  and  have  a  look  at  something  new  in  a  farm 
neat  door." 

"  I  should  be  inclined  to  be  careful  about  introducing 
foreign  ideas  into  this  country.  I  was  a  little  doubtful 
about  all  that." 

"  It's  all  material.  That's  what  struck  me  more  than 
anything  about  him,  the  pains  he  takes  to  collect  material, 
and  the  way  he  uses  it.  Didn't  you  notice  that,  Jim?  " 

"  Fuller  has  been  grinding  at  statistics  for  him  for  the 
last  six  months,"  said  Jim.  "  He  told  me  there  was  nothing 
he  didn't  want  to  know,  and  nothing  he  couldn't  take  in." 

"  Well,  there  it  is.  I'm  quite  willing  to  follow  his  lead 
if  he  works  things  out  as  carefully  as  that,  and  is  willing 


RECOGNITION  275 

to  make  the  use  he  does  of  all  one  can  tell  him.  It  seems 
to  me  that  he  brings  us  something  we  haven't  got,  and  we 
can  give  him  something  that  he  hasn't  got.  I'm  not  sorry 
that  he's  come  here." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on,  the  Browns  were 
flying  homewards  in  their  luxuriously  appointed  car.  Alfred 
and  Katie  were  doing  most  of  the  talking.  They  had 
enjoyed  themselves,  and  liked  all  the  people  they  had 
met,  as  they  usually  did.  Mrs.  Brown  paid  little  attention 
to  their  chatter.  She  was  seriously  exercised  in  her  mind 
as  to  the  diamonds  she  had  worn  in  such  profusion.  Lady 
Inverell  had  worn  but  few  jewels,  but  Mrs.  Brown  had 
seen  her  at  a  party  in  London  with  diamonds  finer  than 
her  own.  Had  she  made  a  mistake?  The  thought  kept 
her  silent  and  depressed  during  the  ten-mile  drive. 

Armitage  Brown  had  also  kept  silence  during  the  first 
half  of  it.  Then  he  roused  himself.  "  Well,  I've  corrected 
some  of  my  ideas,"  he  said.  "  There's  not  much  to  be 
done  with  old  Mr.  Clinton,  but  that  son  of  his  has  some 
brains  in  his  head,  and  so  has  Mr.  Graham,  though  he's 
one  of  the  quiet  sort.  If  I'm  not  mistaken,  we  shall  make 
this  bit  of  country  hum  between  us." 

But  he  had  said  nothing  about  warning  the  hounds  off 
his  land. 


HAVING   IT   OUT 

KATIE  stood  under  a  tree  by  the  side  of  the  road,  while 
the  rain  came  down  as  if  it  wanted  to  make  up  in  a  few 
minutes  for  holding  off  for  the  best  part  of  two  months. 
She  had  walked  out  three  miles  to  a  lonely  cottage,  where 
there  was  a  sick  woman  with  a  young  baby,  and  when  she 
had  started  the  sky  had  shown  no  threat  of  rain,  though 
if  she  had  thought  of  looking  at  a  barometer  she  would 
not  have  gone  without  protection.  She  had  set  out  for 
home  again  under  black  thunder-clouds,  and  was  now  rapidly 
getting  wet,  as  the  leaves  over  her  head  were  yielding  to  the 
terrific  downpour. 

A  motor-car  came  slushing  along  in  the  mud.  She  knew 
it  for  Lord  Meadshire's,  and  felt  a  sudden  alarm  lest  he, 
who  was  in  it  alone,  should  offer  her  assistance.  She  would 
rather  have  got  wet  through. 

He  had  his  hood  up,  and  was  peering  straight  ahead 
through  the  blurred  glass  screen,  but  just  as  he  passed 
Katie's  tree  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  her,  and  had  not  gone 
many  yards  further  before  he  stopped  and  then  backed 
towards  her. 

"Hullo!  want  a  lift?"  he  called  out,  and  then  recog- 
nised her.  "  Oh,  it's  you,  Miss  Brown,"  he  said,  as  if 
they  had  been  on  the  most  friendly  terms.  "  I  say,  I 
think  you'd  better  hop  in.  You'll  get  soaked  through  in 
a  few  minutes." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  very  much,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "  I'm 
all  right.  I  expect  it  will  leave  off  soon.'' 

276 


HAVING  IT  OUT  277 

He  laughed  and  opened  the  door  for  her.  "  Come  in 
quick/'  he  said.  "  I'm  going  to  stop  here  till  the  worst  is 
over.  It  gets  in  through  the  chinks." 

She  got  in,  feeling  like  a  child  whose  will  has  been  over- 
ridden by  one  in  authority,  and  sat  down  next  to  him. 

"  That's  right,"  he  said,  grinning  affably  at  her.  "  I'll 
drive  you  home  when  it  eases  up  a  bit.  I'm  going  up  to 
see  your  father." 

"  You  are  going  to  see  father!  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Yes.     Do  you  think  he'll  want  to  bite  me?  " 

She  had  recovered  her  wits.  She  was  not  going  to  let 
him  treat  her  as  a  child.  "  I  think  you  would  deserve  it 
if  he  did,"  she  said. 

He  roared  with  laughter.  "That's  right;  you  stick  up 
for  your  father,"  he  said.  "  He  wrote  and  asked  me  to 
come,  you  know.  Either  he  would  come  and  see  me,  or 
I  could  come  and  see  him,  or  he'd  put  his  lawyers  on  to 
me.  That's  the  sort  of  man  he  is.  I  thought  I'd  go  and 
beard  him  in  his  own  lair.  I  rather  want  to  see  what 
you've  done  with  Kemsale.  I'm  glad  I  met  you.  Perhaps, 
if  I  take  you  home  dry,  he'll  let  me  off  easy,  eh?  I'm  in 
an  awful  funk,  you  know." 

She  could  not  help  laughing,  but  immediately  became 
serious  again.  "Why  do  you  dislike  father  so  much?" 
she  said.  "  He  has  done  nothing  to  you,  and  yet  you  do 
all  you  can  to  set  people  against  him.  You  go  about 
everywhere  making  mischief.  I  think  it's  very  mean." 

"  Oh,  but  you  mustn't  say  that,  Miss  Brown.  I've  got 
my  feelings,  you  know.  I'm  sure  you  wouldn't  like  to 
hurt  them." 

"  If  you  are  going  to  talk  to  me  like  that,"  she  said, 
"  I  shall  get  out.  I  don't  mind  if  I  do  get  wet.  I'm  not 
a  child  to  be  laughed  at  and  held  of  no  account." 

She  was    already    fumbling  at  the   catch   on   the   door. 


278  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

His  face  changed.  "  All  right,"  he  said,  "  I'll  tell  you 
why  I'm  up  against  your  father.  Anybody  in  my  position 
would  be.  He  comes  down  here  and  rides  roughshod  over 
everything  and  everybody.  He  uses  his  beastly  money  as 
a  sort  of  steam  roller.  You're  expected  to  get  out  of  the 
way  of  it,  and  if  you  don't  he  thinks  he  can  crush  you 
with  it.  He's  not  going  to  crush  me.  I've  got  my  little 
place  in  the  world,  and  I'm  going  to  keep  it.  Money  isn't 
everything,  and  I'm  going  to  be  the  person  that  will  show 
him  that." 

"  I  don't  in  the  least  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said. 
"  I  suppose  I've  no  right  to  be  offended  by  the  things  you 
say,  as  I  asked  you  a  question,  but  there  is  nothing  in  them 
at  all  like  my  father.  You  must  have  made  some  mistake." 

"  I've  made  no  mistake.  I  had  a  taste  of  his  quality 
before  ever  he  bought  the  place,  and  I'm  not  likely  to 
forget  it,  or  forgive  it  either.  However,  that's  no  reason 
why  you  and  I  should  quarrel.  My  sister  likes  you,  you 
know,  and  we've  both  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there's 
nothing  in  the  way  of  our  being  friends,  as  we  shall  have 
to  meet  each  other  now  and  then,  living  next  door  as  we 
do.  Your  father!  Well,  that's  a  different  matter." 

"  We  can't  be  friends,"  she  said  uncompromisingly,  "  if 
you  treat  my  father  as  you  do;  I  mean  that  she  and  I 
can't  be,  if  she  looks  on  him  like  that.  But  perhaps  she 
doesn't.  Perhaps  it's  only  you  who  are  so  unfair  about 
him." 

"  She  looks  on  him  in  exactly  the  same  way  as  I  do. 
She's  reason  to,  after  what  he  did." 

"  What  did  he  do  ?  " 

She  asked  the  question  boldly,  but  not  without  inward 
tremors.  If  it  was  "  business,"  she  thought  her  father 
might  have  been  hard,  and  that  in  any  case  she  might  not 
know  enough  to  be  able  to  defend  him. 


HAVING  IT  OUT  279 

He  looked  at  her  sharply.  "  I  don't  know  that  I  want 
to  go  into  it  with  you/'  he  said.  "  From  what  I've  heard, 
you're  concerned  in  it  yourself,  though  it's  quite  possible 
that  you  haven't  known." 

"  /  concerned  in  it !  "     She  was  utterly  at  a  loss. 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you,  then.  You  have  my  sister's  two 
rooms  up  at  Kemsale,  haven't  you?  Yes,  Beatrix  Irving 
told  me  so.  And  every  mortal  thing  in  them — or  very 
nearly  everything — that  she'd  always  had.  How  would 
you  like  it  if  somebody  took  advantage  of  a  little  mistake 
you  had  made,  and  did  you  out  of  all  the  special  things 
you'd  had  round  you  all  your  life,  as  your  father  did  her?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  poor  Katie,  bewildered 
and  distressed. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  don't  know  anything  about  it. 
You'd  better  ask  your  father  what  he  paid  for  the  contents 
of  those  two  rooms." 

"  He  did  tell  me  that  they  cost  a  great  deal.  But  do 
please  explain.  You  can  see  that  I  don't  understand." 

"  Grace's  things  ought  never  to  have  gone  into  the  sale. 
But  we  didn't  take  them  out  because  we  thought  it  would 
be  just  as  easy  to  buy  them  back.  Well,  your  father 
wouldn't  let  us.  He  had  them  bid  up  to  preposterous 
prices.  We  just  managed  to  get  two  family  portraits — our 
grandfather  and  grandmother — by  frightening  the  man  who 
was  bidding,  and  paying  ten  or  twenty  times  their  value. 
After  that  they  wouldn't  let  us  have  a  thing.  We'd  had 
two  rooms  built  at  our  house  almost  exactly  like  my  sister's 
old  ones,  so  that  she  should  feel  at  home  in  them.  They're 
empty.  She  didn't  want  to  furnish  them  afresh.  That's 
what  we  have  to  thank  your  father  for;  and  if  Grace  can 
forgive  it,  I  can't." 

The  tears  were  in  her  eyes,  half  of  indignation,  half  of 
deep  distress.  "  Oh,  how  can  you  think  we  knew  that?  " 


280  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

she  cried.  "  Father  had  no  idea  that  the  things  we  bought 
were  wanted  for  her.  How  could  he  have?  He  wasn't 
there  himself.  They  were  bought  with  all  the  rest  at 
the  sale." 

"  I  tell  you  he  did  know.  They  telephoned  to  tell  him 
in  the  middle  of  the  sale.  I  sent  the  message  myself,  and 
he  took  no  notice  of  it  whatever.  They  were  to  buy  them 
in,  whatever  it  cost." 

"  I  tell  you  he  didn't  know;  he  couldn't  have  known. 
Yes,  I  remember  now  he  did  say  something  about  a  mes- 
sage, afterwards.  He  thought  it  was  about  the  pictures 
only.  If  it  was  what  you  say,  he  didn't  understand  it. 
And  as  if  7  should  want  to  have  things  that  Lady  Grace 
wanted  for  herself.  She  shall  have  them  all  back,  every 
one.  I  know  father  will  let  me  give  them  to  her  if  I  ask 
him." 

She  was  in  actual  tears  now.  He  looked  at  her  curiously 
and  kindly.  "  Well,  don't  upset  yourself  about  it,"  he 
said.  "  You  are  kind  and  nice  enough,  anyhow.  Of  course 
it  was  a  jar  for  my  sister,  losing  all  her  little  private  treas- 
ures; but  she's  got  used  to  it  now.  If  you've  got  them, 
and  like  them,  we'll  leave  it  at  that." 

"  I  liked  them  because  they  were  hers,"  she  said.  "  I 
haven't  changed  anything  in  the  rooms.  Nearly  every- 
thing else  in  the  house  is  altered,  but  her  two  rooms  are 
just  the  same.  I  hoped  she  would  see  them  some  day, 
and  be  pleased." 

"  I  think  that's  very  sweet  of  you.  I'll  tell  her.  Perhaps 
she  will  see  them  some  day." 

"  Oh,  but  she  must  have  them  back.  Now  we  know  that 
there  was  a  mistake  we  can  put  it  right.  I  shouldn't  have 
a  happy  moment  using  her  things  now." 

"  Well,  you  see,  we  couldn't  very  well  take  them  as  a 
present,  though  it's  kind  enough  of  you  to  think  of  it. 


HAVING  IT  OUT  281 

Don't  worry  about  it  any  more.  We  can  be  getting  on 
now,  I  think." 

It  took  them  only  a  short  time  to  cover  the  four  miles 
to  Kemsale.  Katie  dried  her  eyes  and  sat  very  thoughtful, 
only  answering  by  monosyllables  what  Meadshire  said  to 
her,  and  hardly  hearing  it.  He  had  a  fund  of  easy  talk 
that  required  little  attention,  and  used  it  so  as  to  put  her 
at  her  ease.  When  they  drew  up  before  the  great  porch 
at  Kemsale  he  said  to  her:  "Now  don't  you  think  any- 
thing more  about  those  rooms.  I  shan't,  and  Grace  won't 
either.  I  dare  say  there  was  a  mistake,  and  your  father 
didn't  understand." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  talk  to  him  about  it,"  she  said.  "  Thank 
you  for  saving  me  from  getting  wet.  Good-bye." 

The  rain  had  ceased  and  she  went  round  to  another  en- 
trance, leaving  him  to  make  his  way  into  the  house. 

He  was  shown  straight  into  Armitage  Brown's  business 
room.  The  millionaire  was  sitting  at  his  desk,  awaiting 
him. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Meadshire  affably. 
"  I've  just  brought  your  daughter  home  to  you.  I  found 
her  getting  wet  under  a  tree." 

Armitage  Brown  was  not  often  at  a  loss,  but  he  was 
so  now  at  this  unexpected  opening.  He  mumbled  a  word 
of  thanks  and  asked  his  visitor  to  sit  down. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Meadshire,  and  took  a  chair,  in  which 
he  leaned  back,  crossing  his  legs  and  looking  with  amiable 
expectancy  into  his  adversary's  face. 

Armitage  Brown  recovered  his  equanimity.  "  I  wish  to 
put  a  few  facts  to  you,"  he  said,  "  before  I  instruct  my 
solicitor  to  take  proceedings." 

"  Oh,  yes.  It's  just  as  well  to  have  a  little  talk.  Per- 
haps when  we've  finished  we  shall  find  it  unnecessary  to 
bring  our  solicitors  in  at  all." 


282  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

Armitage  Brown  thought  that  he  was  going  to  be  treated 
with  the  bland  impertinence  that  had  been  used  towards 
Alfred,  and  perhaps  invited  to  lose  his  temper.  He  was 
not  going  to  do  that.  He  was  going  to  say  what  he  had  to 
say  in  the  most  direct  fashion  possible,  and  if  complete 
satisfaction  were  denied  him  cut  the  interview  short  and 
take  his  proceedings.  He  was  going  to  take  no  notice  of 
the  impertinence. 

"  What  I  shall  take  action  on,"  he  said,  "  is  your  having 
told  Mr.  Blake  of  Stubbington  Farm,  on  a  certain  date,  and 
before  witnesses,  that  I  was  not  in  a  position  to  carry  out 
engagements  I  had  entered  upon  with  him,  and  that  if  lie 
didn't  wish  to  be  ruined  he  had  better  find  a  farm  under 
another  landlord." 

Meadshire  appeared  to  give  this  statement  full  consid- 
eration. "  Well,  it  does  seem  rather  strong  if  it's  put  like 
that,  doesn't  it?  "  he  said. 

"  That  will  be  the  chief  ground  of  the  action.  I  shall 
bring  up  other  witnesses  to  prove  that  ever  since  I  bought 
this  property  from  you  you  have  persistently  gone  about 
amongst  people  who  were  your  tenants  and  are  now  mine, 
raising  prejudice  against  me.  It  will  be  shown  that  you 
have  kept  a  footing  here  in  the  middle  of  the  estate,  that 
you  took  very  little  interest  in  the  tenantry  on  it  when  it 
was  yours,  and  were  not  often  here,  but  that  since  selling 
it  to  me  you  have  been  constantly  here,  and  constantly  in 
communication  with  the  tenants ;  and  that  this  has  been 
happening  while  I  was  abroad  and  was  unable  to  take  steps 
to  counteract  your  influence." 

"  It  begins  to  look  worse  and  worse,  doesn't  it?  As  I 
understand  it,  all  this  will  be  brought  up  to  create  preju- 
dice against  me  in  the  eyes  of  a  British  jury." 

"  It  will  be  brought  up  to  prove  that  you  have  been 
chiefly  engaged  during  the  past  six  months  in  spreading 


HAVING  IT  OUT  283 

scandal  against  me.  But  it  isn't  by  any  means  all  that 
will  be  brought  up.  It  will  be  proved  that  in  the  negotia- 
tions that  took  place  leading  up  to  the  sale  of  this  property 
I  gave  way  upon  many  points  that  I  might  have  held  out 
on,  that,  in  fact,  you  received  the  full  price  for  everything 
that  you  sold  me,  that  you  were  difficult  and  inconsequent, 
while  I  made  one  concession  after  the  other,  that  we  never 
even  met  personally,  and  that  I  gave  you  no  cause  whatever 
for  feeling  any  rancour  against  me.  It  will  also  be  proved 
that  you  sold  with  the  rest  the  chancel  pew  in  Kemsale 
Church,  and  that  you  have  taken  steps  to  prevent  my  occu- 
pying it,  which  will  probably  bring  some  light  relief  into 
the  proceedings  when  they  come  to  be  recounted,  and  your 
attendances  at  church  previously  to  my  coming  here  are 
touched  upon.  It  will  be  shown  that  I  gave  way  to  you 
there,  and  I  shall  state  the  reason  why  I  did  so — that  I 
was  not  going  to  enter  upon  any  litigation  in  respect  to  a 
seat  in  a  church.  So  it  will  come  out  gradually  that  you 
have  been  the  aggressor  throughout,  and  that  I  have  not 
been  able,  even  by  giving  way  to  you,  to  soften  your 
rancour." 

Meadshire's  face  had  changed  somewhat  during  this 
speech.  It  might  have  been  supposed  that  ridicule  was 
the  one  weapon  that  he  was  unable  to  stand  up  against. 
But  he  must  have  been  aware  that  he  would  cut  a  poor 
figure  before  this  strong  self-possessed  man,  and  deliver 
himself  into  his  hands  if  it  was  to  be  his  own  temper  that 
should  be  lost.  "  Well,  it's  beginning  to  look  like  a  good 
case,"  he  said,  in  the  same  tone  as  before,  but  not  with 
quite  the  same  easy  smile.  "  It  will  rest  upon  my  actually 
having  no  complaint  against  you  and  your  methods;  but 
we'll  leave  that  aside  for  the  moment.  Supposing  you're 
going  to  have  everything  your  own  way,  what  will  be  the 
reason  to  be  fixed  upon  me  for  my  attitude  towards  you?  " 


284  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  Oh,  that's  very  easily  answered.  Jealousy.  Jealousy 
of  a  particularly  contemptible  sort.  All  the  world  knows 
what  you  are;  all  the  world  knows  what  I  am.  You're  a 
peer,  the  head  of  an  old  family,  who  have  acted  in  such  a 
way  as  to  have  to  sell  everything  you  had,  and  bring  your 
family  to  an  end.  I'm  a  rich  man,  who  have  made  enough 
money  to  step  into  your  shoes.  And  you  don't  like  it.  You'll 
take  my  money,  but  you'll  do  all  you  can  to  prevent  my  en- 
joying what  you've  sold  to  me.  You'll  sit  down  here  next 
door  to  me,  and  see  that  you  mop  up  all  the  bowings  and 
scrapings  that  are  due  to  you;  you  think  I  want  them  as 
much  as  you  do,  and  you'll  prevent  me  getting  them  if  you 
can.  You'll  scuttle  into  church  half  an  hour  before  the  ser- 
vice, when  you  hardly  went  at  all  before,  so  that  I  shall  be 
prevented  from  sitting  in  a  seat  that  belongs  to  me  a  couple 
of  steps  higher  than  the  rest  of  the  congregation.  You've 
thrown  over  the  people  that  have  lived  on  your  land  for  gen- 
erations ;  you  encourage  them  to  think  that  I  shall  turn  them 
out.  When  you  find  I  mean  to  take  over  the  responsibilities 
that  you've  chucked  away  and  keep  them  on,  though  there's 
no  obligation  on  me  to  do  it,  you  can't  bear  that  either. 
You  don't  care  what  becomes  of  them;  you  set  yourself 
to  persuade  them  to  go,  because  you  tlu'nk  you  can  harm 
me  by  it." 

"  Oh,  that's  enough,"  said  Meadshire.  He  was  red  and 
scowling;  the  indictment  had  been  too  wounding.  It  had 
been  impossible  to  keep  up  the  air  of  jaunty  indifference 
with  which  he  had  listened  to  its  opening.  "  If  you  want 
to  bring  an  action  against  me,  bring  it  and  be  damned  to 
you.  You  won't  get  it  all  your  own  way." 

He  rose  from  his  seat,  and  prepared  to  leave  the  room. 
Armitage  Brown  did  not  shift  his  position,  nor  look  up  at 
him.  "  Well,  that's  how  it  will  show  up  if  I  go  to  law," 
he  said  in  the  same  even  voice.  "  The  question  is  whether 


HAVING  IT  OUT  285 

what  you  can  bring  up  in  defence — and  I've  no  doubt  you'll 
bring  up  something — is  going  to  harm  me  as  much  as  what 
I  shall  bring  up  will  harm  you.  If  not,  I  don't  see  why 
money  should  be  wasted  in  litigation  when  matters  can 
quite  easily  be  settled  between  ourselves." 

He  looked  up  now,  inquiringly.  There  was  no  passion 
in  his  hard  gaze,  no  annoyance,  no  contempt  even.  He  was 
proposing  a  business  negotiation.  Meadshire  was  being  in- 
vited to  ignore  his  outbreak,  as  completely  as  his  adversary 
had  ignored  it. 

He  decided  to  do  so.  The  stronger  character  had  won. 
He  could  only  lose  more  and  yet  more  by  keeping  up  the 
struggle. 

He  glared  down  at  him  for  a  moment  and  then  threw 
himself  into  his  chair  again  with  a  laugh.  "  I  told  some- 
body the  other  day  that  you  were  a  hard  nut  to  crack,"  he 
said,  "  and,  by  Jove,  you've  cracked  me.  I  don't  wonder 
that  you've  got  on  in  the  world." 

Armitage  Brown  was  ready  to  allow  him  to  recover  his 
equanimity,  but  was  not  yet  ready  to  relinquish  his  imper- 
sonal a'titude.  "What  I  should  expect  to  gain  by  litiga- 
tion," he  said,  "  would  be  to  put  a  stop  to  the  annoyance 
I'm  subjected  to  now  by  finding  you  continually  in  my 
way.  I've  stood  it  up  to  the  point  at  which  I'll  stand  it 
no  longer;  but  if  you  can  satisfy  me  now  that  the  annoy- 
ance will  cease  I  shall  get  all  I  want.  I'm  not  anxious 
to  waste  my  time  in  the  law  courts.  I  can  find  better  use 
for  it." 

Having  once  got  rid  of  his  fit  of  temper,  Meadshire  was 
now  himself  again,  and  proof  against  showing  temper 
again.  "  You'll  give  up  the  idea  of  scoring  against  me," 
he  suggested. 

"  Scoring  against  you !  I  shouldn't  waste  five  minutes  of 
my  time  or  a  shilling  of  my  money  for  the  sake  of  scoring 


286  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

against  you.     I  don't  care  anything  about  you,  if  you'll  keep 
out  of  my  way.     That's  all  I  want." 

The  temper  showed  itself  for  a  moment,  but  was  under 
control.  "  Well  now,  that's  j  ust  the  attitude  that  has  riled 
me,  you  know,  and  led  to  my  doing  things  that  perhaps 
I  shouldn't  have  done  if  you  had  shown  yourself  a  little 
more  agreeable.  Keep  out  of  your  way !  It's  what  I  call 
riding  roughshod  and  you  can  only  do  it  because  you're 
rich." 

"  What  chances  have  I  had  of  making  myself  agreeable, 
as  you  call  it?  Did  you  expect  me  to  come  hat  in  hand 
to  you  for  leave  to  live  peaceably  in  the  place  I've  bought 
from  you?  What  did  you  expect?  I'm  hanged  if  I  know. 
If  you've  made  up  your  mind  to  avoid  having  an  action 
brought  against  you,  by  giving  me  the  undertaking  I  want, 
you  might  tell  me  how  I've  succeeded  in  offending  your  lord- 
ship— what  I've  left  undone,  that  a  marquis  might  expect 
from  a  man  in  the  City.  I'm  not  above  learning." 

"  You've  got  a  damned  rough  tongue  in  your  head,  Mr. 
Brown.  If  I  hadn't  happened  to  have  had  a  little  conversa- 
tion with  your  daughter  just  now,  which  has  thrown  rather 
a  new  light  upon  a  certain  subject,  I  shouldn't  sit  here 
taking  all  this  from  you.  You're  showing  yourself  all  the 
time  exactly  what  I  thought  you.  I  don't  stand  on  what 
I  happen  to  be  by  accident.  I've  stood  on  it  a  great  deal 
too  little,  according  to  the  general  opinion.  But  you  do 
stand  on  your  money.  It's  what  has  given  you  your  posi- 
tion here.  I  dare  say  I've  played  the  fool  and  given  you  a 
handle  against  me.  I  generally  do  play  the  fool  somehow; 
it's  what  I'm  noted  for.  But  there's  been  something  be- 
hind it.  I  thought  if  I  didn't  show  that  I  wasn't  going  to 
be  snowed  under  by  you  and  your  money,  here  in  the  place 
where  I  live,  and  have  a  right  to  live,  you  would — well,  you 
would  behave  exactly  as  you're  doing  now." 


HAVING  IT  OUT  287 

"  I'm  behaving  now  as  you've  invited  me  to  behave.  If 
you  had  shown  yourself  disposed  to  be  friendly  when  I 
came  down  here,  you  wouldn't  have  had  anything  to  com- 
plain of  in  my  behaviour.  Nobody  else  about  here  has,  as 
far  as  I  know.  At  the  same  time  I  should  like  to  make  it 
quite  plain  that  I'm  not  grumbling  at  your  holding  off  from 
me.  You'd  a  perfect  right  to  do  that  if  you  didn't  think 
I  was  good  enough  for  you.  But  I  suppose  I've  as  good 
a  right  to  show  myself  independent  as  yoU  have,  and  you've 
no  cause  to  complain,  after  what  has  happened,  at  my  want- 
ing to  have  it  understood  that  I'm  not  the  sort  of  man  to 
care  a  snap  of  the  fingers  whether  you  had  thought  me 
good  enough  or  not.  What  were  you  referring  to  when  you 
mentioned  my  daughter  just  now?  " 

"  Well,  it's  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole  thing.  You  used 
your  money  in  what  I  call  a  brutal  way,  to  prevent  us 
getting  some  things  we  wanted  out  of  this  house." 

"  You  must  speak  more  plainly,  please.  I  don't  know 
what  you're  referring  to." 

"  I  made  the  mistake  of  leaving  things  in  the  sale  that 
ought  to  have  been  taken  out  beforehand.  I  thought  we 
should  be  able  to  buy  in  what  we  wanted.  Well,  you 
wouldn't  let  us.  The  contents  of  my  sister's  two  special 
rooms  were  bid  up  to  extravagant  prices,  and  she  lost  them. 
I  suppose  you'll  say  I  got  twenty  times  their  value  in  money, 
and  so  I  did,  and  more;  but  I  didn't  want  the  money,  I 
wanted  the  things,  for  her." 

"  It's  rather  an  absurd  charge  to  make,  if  you  mean  by 
it  that  I  should  deliberately  pay  twenty  times  the  value  of 
things,  and  pay  it  to  you,  in  order  to  prevent  your  having 
them.  Why  should  I  do  a  thing  like  that?  " 

"  That's  what  I  want  to  know.    You  did  do  it." 

"  What  happened  exactly   was  that  I  gave  instructions 


288  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

that  certain  things  were  to  be  bought.  How  was  I  to  know 
that  some  of  them  weren't  meant  to  be  sold  ?  " 

"  They  telephoned  to  you  in  the  middle  of  the  sale,  and 
I  sent  a  message  myself." 

"  Well  then,  they  muddled  it.  I  do  remember  being  rung 
up.  I  was  very  busy  at  the  time  and  I'd  given  them 
my  instructions,  so  I  didn't  waste  much  time  over  them. 
They  certainly  didn't  put  it  on  the  ground  you  mention,  or 
I  should  have  listened.  I  don't  remember  anything  being 
said  about  that  at  all.  It  was  on  the  ground  of  things 
fetching  a  higher  price  than  they  had  expected  that  they 
telephoned." 

Meadshire  remembered  how  little  trouble  he  had  taken  to 
get  the  right  message  through,  intent  on  his  "  fun  "  as  he 
had  been.  "  Well,  it's  all  over  and  done  with  now,"  he  said. 
"  I  dare  say  I  did  you  some  injustice,  but  surely  you  must 
have  found  out  how  things  stood  afterwards.  You  paid 
something  like  a  couple  of  thousand  pounds  for  those  two 
rooms,  and  they  were  worth  a  couple  of  hundred  at  the 
very  outside." 

"  I  was  surprised ;  but  I  don't  worry  about  that  sort 
of  thing  when  it's  over.  I  thought  I  had  myself  to  thank 
for  it.  It  was  foolish  to  give  the  instructions  I  did.  I 
thought  I'd  just  been  taken  advantage  of,  and  as  I'd  been 
warned,  I  couldn't  blame  anybody  but  myself.  As  I'd  had 
to  pay  the  money  I  thought  that  might  do;  so  I  put  it  out 
of  my  mind." 

"  Well,  as  I  say,  I  did  you  an  injustice,  and  I'm  sorry 
for  it.  Still,  you'll  admit  that  your  way  of  doing  things 
wouldn't  exactly  explain  itself  to  anybody  who  wouldn't 
be  prepared  to  sacrifice  two  thousand  pounds  for  making 
a  mistake,  and  to  think  no  more  about  it.  The  whole  thing 
seemed  significant.  It  seems  to  have  put  me  on  to  a 
wrong  scent." 


HAVING  IT  OUT  £89 

"  I  must  talk  to  my  daughter  about  it.  She  wanted  those 
rooms  exactly  as  they  were,  and  that  was  another  reason 
why  I  didn't  mind  the  price  I  paid.  You  say  you've  talked 
to  her.  What  did  she  say?  " 

"  Oh,  she  was  as  nice  as  she  could  be  about  it — seems 
to  have  taken  a  fancy  to  my  sister,  and  wanted  to  give  her 
everything  back — didn't  like  to  think  she'd  been  done  out 
of  the  things,  and  of  course  wouldn't  admit  that  you  had 
been  to  blame  in  any  way.  I  don't  know  that  you  were. 
I  told  her  we'd  better  let  it  stand  now.  But  if  you'd 
care  to  sell  the  things  for  the  price  you  gave,  it  would  put 
everything  right." 

"  Certainly  I  will,  if  my  daughter  agrees ;  and  I  sup- 
pose she  will,  from  what  you  say.  We'll  consider  that 
settled  then,  and  it's  one  misunderstanding  removed." 

Meadshire  was  melted.  "  It's  really  the  only  one,"  he 
said.  "  Look  here,  Mr.  Brown,  I've  become  infernally 
bored  with  carrying  on  this  feud.  I'm  not  cut  out  for  it. 
My  old  cousin,  Edward  Clinton,  went  for  me  the  other  day 
about  it.  I  wouldn't  let  him  see  that  I  was  sick  of  it,  but 
I  am.  I  apologise  for  everything  I've  done  or  said  against 
you.  Now  will  you  accept  that  and  think  no  more  about 
it?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  can  promise  that,  Lord  Meadshire.  I've 
always  been  able  to  make  some  excuses.  If  I'd  belonged 
to  a  place  in  the  way  you  have,  I  shouldn't  care  about  seeing 
somebody  else  in  my  shoes." 

"  That's  very  handsomely  said.  But  I  haven't  behaved 
well,  and  there's  no  good  denying  it.  Now  you'll  sit  in  the 
chancel  pew  next  Sunday,  won't  you?  I've  been  to  church 
six  Sundays  running,  and  I  want  a  holiday." 


CHAPTER  XXIH 

SIX    MONTHS   LATER 

"  I  AM  thinking  of  giving  a  ball  here." 

The  momentous  announcement  was  made  by  Mrs.  Brown 
to  Mrs.  Fuller,  as  they  sat  at  tea  together,  one  late  Novem- 
ber afternoon,  in  Mrs.  Brown's  boudoir.  It  was  received 
by  Mrs.  Fuller  with  complete  calm  of  manner;  but  her  eyes 
glistened. 

"  I  think  it  is  a  good  idea/'  she  said.  "  There  is  no 
finer  house  for  a  ball  anywhere,  and  done  as  you  will  do 
it,  it  ought  to  be  a  great  affair." 

"  There  ought  to  be  no  difficulty  in  doing  it  well  in  this 
house.  It  might  have  been  built  for  it.  It  seems  a  waste 
not  to  have  one." 

"  Yes ;  with  that  splendid  ballroom,  and  everything.  I 
have  often  thought  that  Kemsale  was  just  the  house  to 
give  your  genius  for  organisation  full  scope." 

"  I  do  like  organising  entertainments,  it  is  true.  I  like 
to  get  people  together  and  see  them  enjoy  themselves. 
But  you  know  how  difficult  it  has  been  to  do  anything 
here." 

The  speech  showed  how  far  Mrs.  Fuller  had  advanced 
with  her  patroness  during  the  past  six  months.  For  the 
difficulties  referred  to  had  been  those  that  Mrs.  Brown's 
husband  had  put  in  the  way  of  her  using  Kemsale  as  the 
stage  for  large  formal  parties.  One  of  the  few  strains 
of  weakness  in  this  lady's  otherwise  self-reliant  character 
was  the  necessity  she  felt  for  a  confidant.  Aunt  Millie 
would  not  do.  She  would  talk  about  everything  but  the 

290 


SIX  MONTHS  LATER  291 

social  campaign,  and  that,  to  do  her  justice,  Mrs.  Brown 
had  never  asked  her  to  talk  about.  Aunt  Millie  had  never 
been  to  any  of  her  big  parties ;  it  was  an  understood  thing 
that  on  that  side  of  their  lives  each  took  her  own  line,  and 
so  they  remained  fast  friends  on  the  other  sides.  But  Mrs. 
Fuller  would  talk  about  the  social  campaign  as  much  as 
was  required.  She  did  it  with  a  constant  effort  of  tact. 
Her  line  was  that  Mrs.  Brown  had  a  duty  to  perform  to 
society ;  no  hint  was  ever  allowed  to  creep  out  of  any  ques- 
tion of  "  climbing."  The  affair,  indeed,  was  not  regarded 
as  a  campaign  at  all.  And  she  also  exercised  tact  with  refer- 
ence to  the  difficulties  already  referred  to.  She  did  so  now, 
as  she  replied: 

"  It  is  only  natural  that  with  Katie  and  Mr.  Alfred  at 
home  for  Christmas — I  suppose  you  will  have  the  ball  about 
that  time — and  I  suppose  some  of  their  friends  here  too, 
you  should  get  up  something  to  amuse  them." 

"  That  is  why  I  want  to  have  it,  of  course,"  said  Mrs. 
Brown.  "  In  fact,  Katie  said  something  to  her  father  the 
other  day  about  dancing,  and  he  made  no  objection." 

"  The  last  time  there  was  a  ball  here  was  in  the  old 
lord's  time.  He  loved  gaiety  of  that  sort.  It  was  a  very 
brilliant  affair.  But  yours,  of  course,  will  be  just  as 
brilliant." 

"  I  don't  see  why  it  shouldn't  be  done  just  as  well.  I 
could  hardly  expect,  I  suppose,  to  get  exactly  the  same 
sort  of  people." 

"  But  why  not?  It  will  be  chiefly  a  county  ball.  You 
know  everybody  around  you  now.  All  the  big  houses  will 
bring  their  parties.  If  you  have  it,  as  I  should  suggest, 
in  the  same  week  as  the  Hunt  Ball  and  the  County  Ball, 
you  will  get  exactly  the  same  people,  except  for  those  stay- 
ing in  the  house." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  the  house  well  filled.     I  suppose 


292  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

people  would  come  from  London  for  it.  We  could  have 
special  trains  for  them." 

It  gave  Mrs.  Fuller  a  pleasant  sense  of  superiority  when 
she  found  her  patroness  tripping  in  her  knowledge  of 
social  habits,  which  she  frequently  did  when  they  were 
based  upon  country  life.  But  she  was  careful  not  to  dis- 
play her  superiority.  "  Wouldn't  it  be  better/'  she  said, 
"  to  do  as  they  did  here  last  time — invite  people  for  the 
three  balls.  You  would  be  more  likely  to  get  the  right 
sort  of  people,  wouldn't  you?  You  know  best,  but  I  should 
have  thought  that  it  might  be  difficult  to  get  them  from 
London  at  that  time  of  the  year,  and  just  for  one  night." 

"  That  means  having  a  regular  house-party  for  the  best 
part  of  a  week." 

Mrs.  Fuller  had  divined  the  alarm  with  which  a  pros- 
pect of  that  sort  was  regarded.  "  With  the  house  quite 
full,"  she  said,  "  people  would  amuse  themselves.  Besides, 
at  this  time  of  the  year  there  would  be  plenty  for  them  to 
do.  You  could  arrange  the  big  shoot  for  that  time,  and  I 
dare  say  some  of  them  would  hunt.  Perhaps  you  might 
get  up  private  theatricals,  or  something  of  that  sort,  if 
there  is  an  evening  free." 

Mrs.  Brown  considered  this.  "  Alfred  might  write  a 
play,"  she  said.  "  He  has  often  talked  of  doing  it.  He 
might  get  his  party  here  to  rehearse  it  for  some  time  before- 
hand. Then  it  would  be  natural  to  get  people  down  to 
see  it.  There  would  be  plenty  of  room  for  both  sorts." 
Both  sorts,  as  was  well  understood  between  them,  meant 
Alfred's  and  Katie's  friends,  who  would  be  the  excuse  for 
the  gatherings,  and  the  most  ornamental  of  Mrs.  Brown's 
acquaintances  who  could  be  induced  to  come.  "  I  think 
theatricals  or  tableaux  vivants  are  a  good  idea." 

"  Tableaux  vivants  would  be  better  still,"  said  Mrs. 
Fuller.  (Irene  could  pose  pictorially,  but  it  was  doubtful 


SIX  MONTHS  LATER  298 

if  she  could  act.)  "  Mr.  Alfred  would  be  very  good  at 
arranging  them,  and  they  ought  to  be  well  worth  seeing  and 
make  a  considerable  stir,  done  in  the  thorough  way  in  which 
you  would  do  them.  They  had  some  at  Brenchleys  a  few 
years  ago.  They  were  pretty  enough,  but  they  were  got 
up — well,  on  the  cheap,  as  you  might  say,  mostly  with  home- 
made costumes." 

Mrs.  Brown  saw  large  sums  of  money  spent  upon  dresses 
and  scenery,  the  ball-room  turned  into  a  theatre  for  one 
night,  and  changed  back  as  if  by  magic  to  a  ball-room 
for  the  next.  If  spending  money  could  have  done  every- 
thing, the  prospect  would  have  held  nothing  but  the  extreme 
of  gratification. 

"  It  might,  perhaps,  be  as  well,"  suggested  Mrs.  Fuller, 
who  also  had  her  visions,  "  to  have  the  tableaux  performed 
by  the  young  people,  and  others,  who  are  at  hand  here. 
There  are  plenty  of  them,  and  Mr.  Brown  likes  seeing  them 
about  the  place,  doesn't  he?  " 

"  It  would  give  them  all  something  to  do  about  Christmas 
time.  They  could  come  and  stay  in  the  house  if  they  wished 
to,  and  we  could  have  a  series  of  little  dances  for  them. 
I  shouldn't  mind  hiring  a  band  for  a  fortnight  or  so." 

"  Oh,  what  a  delightful  idea !  And  how  it  will  wake 
everybody  up !  Kemsale  will  indeed  take  its  place  again 
as  the  chief  house  in  the  county." 

"  As  for  the  shooting,  I  really  don't  know.  My  husband 
doesn't  care  about  it.  I  thought  Alfred  might,  but — 

That  "  but  "  meant  a  good  deal.  Mrs.  Brown  had  or- 
ganised one  shooting  party — or  rather  the  guests  for  it — 
and  it  had  been  almost  a  fiasco.  When  Alfred  had  heard 
the  names  of  the  guests,  he  had  found  it  necessary  to  run 
over  to  Paris  for  a  few  days,  and  had,  unfortunately,  not 
been  able  to  return  in  time  for  the  occasion.  Time  had  hung 
heavily  indoors.  Armitage  Brown,  who  had  always  com- 


294  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

ported  himself  with  affability  during  the  few  hours  of  a 
dinner  or  an  evening  party,  had  found  the  strain  too  great 
when  extended  to  days.  His  own  life  had  been  completely 
upset,  and  he  had  expressed  himself  strongly  about  it.  He 
had  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  arrangements 
out-of-doors,  and  Fuller  had  not  been  competent  to  carry 
them  through.  Douglas  Irving  had  saved  the  situation  at 
the  last  moment,  and  the  shooting  had  gone  well ;  but  Mrs. 
Brown  knew  that  very  few  of  the  men  who  shot  the  Kem- 
sale  pheasants  would  come  again  to  a  house  in  which  the 
host  took  no  interest  in  their  sport,  but  handed  them  over 
to  somebody  else,  and  that  she  herself  had  not  succeeded 
in  preserving  their  womenkind  from  boredom. 

"  If  you  were  to  make  the  ball  and  the  theatricals  the 
chief  thing,  and  were  to  ask  mostly  young  people — of  the 
right  sort,  of  course — then  the  shooting,  for  the  men,  would 
just  be  something  to  do  in  the  daytime,  and  the  women 
could  go  out  with  them.  My  husband  would  have  no  diffi- 
culty in  arranging  matters  satisfactorily  for  a  shoot  of  that 
sort,  if  plenty  of  time  were  given  beforehand." 

Mrs.  Fuller  had  been  furious  with  the  poor  little  man 
for  allowing  himself  to  be  superseded  by  Douglas  Irving 
on  the  previous  occasion,  and  she  knew  that  Mrs.  Brown 
had  also  disliked  his  being  called  in.  What  she  had  never 
been  able  to  gauge,  however,  was  exactly  how  far  that  lady 
was  under  the  commands  of  her  husband.  She  seemed  to 
have  extraordinary  license  to  spend  money  on  objects  that 
she  cared  about  and  he  didn't,  and  yet  occasionally  he  put 
his  foot  down,  as  he  had  done  over  this.  As  people  had 
been  asked  to  shoot,  it  was  for  him  to  see  that  their  shoot- 
ing was  properly  managed  for  them,  and  he  chose  to 
delegate  his  powers  to  Irving,  as  he  knew  nothing  about  such 
things  himself.  But  people  like  that  were  not  to  be  asked 
again.  There  were  plenty  of  people  about  the  place  who 


SIX  MONTHS  LATEfc  295 

could  be  asked  to  shoot;  he  wasn't  going  to  have  the  shoot- 
ing made  an  excuse  for  filling  the  house  with  smart  Lon- 
doners. That  was  the  way  he  had  expressed  himself,  al- 
though Mrs.  Brown's  guests  had  not  been  exclusively 
Londoners,  but  on  the  whole  a  very  creditable  collection  of 
what  she  and  Mrs.  Fuller  now  always  spoke  of  as  "  the 
right  sort  of  people." 

"  The  difficulty  with  young  people  would  be  that  they 
might  not  mix  very  well  with  Katie's  and  Alfred's  friends," 
Mrs.  Brown  said,  ignoring  the  invitation  to  come  out  as 
backer  of  Fuller  against  Irving.  "  Alfred  likes  artists  and 
literary  people,  and  Katie's  chief  friends  are  her  school 
friends.  I  am  pleased  to  see  anybody  they  choose  to  ask 
here,  of  course,  and  to  do  everything  I  can  for  them.  I 
have  never  tried  to  influence  their  friendships  in  any  way; 
but— 

"  I  have  often  thought  it  rather  odd  that  Katie  should 
have  so  little  of  your  wonderful  discrimination  about 
people.  She  is  a  dear  little  thing  in  every  way,  and  any- 
body would  be  glad  to  have  her  for  a  friend,  I  don't  care 
who  they  were.  See  how  Lady  Grace  has  taken  to  her! 
And  Lord  Meadshire  admires  her  tremendously;  that  is  very 
plain  to  see." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  say  that  sort  of  thing,"  said  Mrs. 
Brown,  in  a  tone  of  displeasure. 

Mrs.  Fuller  hastened  to  amend  her  mistake.  "  Oh,  I 
don't  mean  in  that  way,"  she  said  with  a  laugh.  "  I  should 
never  have  thought  of  such  a  thing.  You  wouldn't  care  for 
it,  I  know.  I  only  meant  that  he  makes  a  great  friend  of 
her;  and  really,  I  think  she  has  had  a  wonderfully  good 
influence  on  him.  That  is  sometimes  the  way  with  a  thor- 
oughly nice  girl,  and  a  man  much  older  than  herself,  who 
looks  up  to  her  as  being  good,  if  you  understand  what  I 
mean,  and  behaves  carefully  because  of  her  influence." 


296  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  Yes,  I  understand  what  you  mean ;  but  I  don't  like  to 
think  of  Katie  mixed  up  in  any  way  with  Lord  Meadshire, 
and  I  think  that  what  you  say  is  exaggerated.  He  had  a 
serious  break-out  not  so  long  ago,  and  if  it  were  not  for 
Lady  Grace  I  think  I  should  have  tried  to  break  off  all 
connections  with  him  definitely  after  that." 

Mrs.  Fuller  did  not  believe  this,  although  she  thought 
it  quite  natural  that  it  should  be  said.  But  it  was  true 
enough.  Mrs.  Brown  detested  Meadshire.  For  one  thing, 
she  knew  that  he  had  taken  her  measure.  After  his  capitula- 
tion to  her  husband  six  months  before,  he  had  not  only 
thrown  aside  all  traces  of  his  former  hostility,  but  had  pro- 
fessed an  easy  intimacy  towards  the  whole  family.  Katie 
he  delighted  in;  she  had  captured  him,  during  their  inter- 
view in  the  motor-car,  by  her  sincerity  and  courage,  and  by 
the  tenderness  she  had  shown  towards  Grace.  Alfred  he 
liked  too,  and  had  begun  by  apologising  handsomely  for  the 
way  he  had  treated  him  on  that  Sunday  afternoon  at  Little 
Kemsale.  Armitage  Brown  had  been  at  first  rather  grimly 
distant  with  him,  but  had  found  it  impossible  to  stand  out 
against  his  extreme  good  nature.  He  was  like  a  child  who 
has  been  naughty  and  wants  to  "  make  up."  He  was  like 
a  child  in  so  many  ways,  inconsequent,  undependable,  undis- 
ciplined, but  with  the  appeal  of  a  child  whose  approaches 
cannot  be  resisted.  He  chaffed  the  millionaire  about  his 
millions,  about  his  schemes,  which  he  still  thought  absurd, 
but  did  nothing  any  longer  to  hamper,  about  everything 
that  most  people  would  have  treated  with  respectful  silence ; 
and  the  millionaire  rather  liked  it.  He  had  thought  that 
the  sudden  change  from  enmity  to  friendship  in  a  man  of 
Meadshire's  history  must  mean  the  laying  of  a  train  for 
profit  to  be  presently  extracted.  He  had  quite  expected 
a  loan  to  be  applied  for  when  the  intimacy  should  be  suffi- 
ciently established.  It  is  one  of  the  penalties  of  the  rich 


SIX  MONTHS  LATER  £97 

man  that  he  must  always  suspect  a  proffer  of  friendship. 
But  in  this  case  it  soon  became  plain  that  there  was  no 
design  behind  the  friendly  raillery.  As  long  as  Meadshire 
had  any  money  of  his  own  he  would  want  nobody  else's, 
and  the  possessions  of  another  man  would  cause  him  no 
envy.  In  fact  he  would  consider  himself  on  an  equality 
with  the  richest  in  respect  of  money,  until  his  own  would 
disappear.  Armitage  Brown  had  a  half-contemptuous  re- 
gard for  him,  as  a  man  who  had  thrown  away  all  his 
chances,  but  retained  his  cheerful  outlook.  He  was  an 
amusing  companion,  of  a  sort  that  he  had  not  come  across 
before ;  and  he  was  warm-hearted.  Armitage  Brown's  own 
feelings  with  regard  to  him  were  beginning  to  be  tinged 
with  a  slight  warmth. 

But  the  light  raillery  which  Meadshire  directed  against 
the  millionaire  was  a  deep  offence  to  the  millionaire's  wife. 
To  be  chaffed  about  her  pink  saloon  and  her  blue  saloon 
and  her  yellow  saloon  and  other  marks  of  her  wealth  and 
state  was  unforgivable.  She  was  incapable  of  answering 
him  in  his  own  vein,  and  took  refuge  in  haughty  silence. 
When  he  saw  that  his  chaff  annoyed  her  he  gave  it  up ;  but 
the  occasional  twinkle  in  his  eye  when  he  addressed  her,  as 
well  as  the  discontinuation  of  the  chaff,  showed  her  that  her 
ambitions  stood  revealed  to  him.  She  heartily  wished  that 
his  hostility  had  continued.  His  frequenting  of  Kemsale 
did  her  no  credit  with  anybody;1  she  had  got  beyond  the 
point  at  which  a  much-damaged  marquis  might  have  been 
desired  as  an  ornament,  and  her  cold  correctitude  of  morals 
caused  her  to  shrink  from  what  she  had  heard  about  him. 
She  had  from  the  first  disliked  the  terms  of  his  friendship 
with  Katie,  although  she  had  not  made  Mrs.  Fuller's  mis- 
take of  imagining  more  in  it  than  was  displayed  for  all  to 
see.  When  the  long-delayed  "  outbreak  "  had  occurred  in 
mid-summer,  and  Meadshire  had  been  away  from  Kemsale 


298      THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

for  two  months,  to  return  much  subdued  and  much  th<j 
worse  in  appearance,  her  distaste  for  him  had  increased  to 
the  point  of  strong  dislike.  She  had  told  Katie  that  sho 
must  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  him,  and  her  husbancj 
that  she  hoped  he  would  not  be  encouraged  to  come  to 
Kemsale  again.  But  Katie  would  not  give  up  Grace,  and 
as  Grace  was  a  credit  to  her  friends,  Mrs.  Brown  had  not 
felt  able  to  insist  that  she  should.  Meadshire  had  kept 
away  from  Kemsale  of  his  own  accord  for  some  weeks,  until 
Armitage  Brown,  who  had  been  somewhat  scandalised  by 
the  outbreak,  made  advances  to  him  of  his  own  accord.  He 
was  sorry  for  him,  he  told  his  wife.  From  all  he  could 
hear,  he  had  not  kept  straight  for  so  long  together  for 
many  years  past,  and  was  evidently  ashamed  now  of  hav- 
ing given  way.  He  wasn't  going  to  be  the  one  to  show 
the  cold  shoulder  to  a  man  who  was  trying  to  lift  himself 
out  of  the  mire.  So  they  had  drifted  back  to  the  old 
conditions.  Meadshire  was  often  at  Kemsale,  and  seemed 
quite  to  have  recovered  his  spirits  and  his  health.  But 
Mrs.  Brown's  watchfulness  never  slumbered,  and  she  dis- 
liked him  more  than  ever.  If  another  "outbreak  "  should 
occur,  she  would  make  a  strong  effort  to  cut  the  tie  alto- 
gether. 

And  now,  as  Mrs.  Fuller  had  given  her  the  opportunity, 
she  determined  to  express  what  she  felt  about  it,  with  no 
possibility  of  being  mistaken. 

"I  dislike  Lord  Meadshire  thoroughly,"  she  said;  "and 
I  dislike  his  being  as  intimate  with  Katie  as  he  is.  The 
intimacy  does  her  no  harm,  perhaps,  in  itself;  I  will  do 
him  the  justice  to  say  that  I  think  he  is  at  his  best  with 
her;  and  Lady  Grace  is  nearly  always  there.  I  have  no 
fear  of  anything  happening  on  either  side  that  I  should 
not  wish.  But  it  is  just  because  what  you  have  just  said 
others  may  be  saying  that  I  dislike  it  so.  I  suppose  you 


SIX  MONTHS  LATER  299 

would  not  have  said  it  unless  it  were  the  common  talk." 

Mrs.  Fuller  was  puzzled.  Did  Mrs.  Brown  really  dislike 
the  idea  of  her  daughter's  name  being  coupled  with  that 
of  a  marquis?  The  idea  was  almost  beyond  the  range  of 
her  imagination,  although  she  could  well  understand  her 
wishing  it  to  be  thought  that  she  did.  And  yet  there  was 
no  mistaking  the  sincerity  of  her  annoyance.  Perhaps  there 
was  something  behind  it  that  she  did  not  know  of. 

"Are  people  saying  it?"  Mrs.  Brown  pressed  her. 

"  Not  in  any  ill-natured  way  at  all.  But  you  see  it  is 
a  thing  that  would  be  likely  to  be  said  anyhow.  Katie 
is  looked  upon  as  a  great  heiress,  and  a  person  in  Lord 
Meadshire's  position  is  always  supposed  to  be  on  the  look- 
out for  an  heiress." 

"  I  don't  know  why  Katie  should  be  looked  upon  as  a 
great  heiress.  She  will  have  some  money,  of  course,  by 
and  by,  but  whatever  she  may  have,  she  would  not  have  it 
for  many  years  yet,  let  us  hope.  My  husband  is  not  so 
much  older  than  Lord  Meadshire,  and  I  should  say  that 
his  life  is  every  bit  as  good.  Such  talk  is  very  annoying; 
very  annoying  indeed.  I  do  hope  you  will  do  all  you  can 
to  discountenance  it.  I  do  think  you  owe  me  that,  at  least." 

What  Mrs.  Fuller  actually  owed  to  her  was  her 
countenance,  which  did  not  help  her  much  outside;  some 
brightening  of  her  own  life,  for  which  she  paid  something 
on  account  in  an  irksome  self-control;  and  an  occasional 
gift  of  a  hat  or  a  gown,  which  she  was  glad  enough  to 
accept,  while  she  secretly  resented  the  offer.  She  also 
resented  being  reminded  of  her  obligation,  but  judged  their 
continuance  to  be  worth  making  due  effort  for. 

"  What  I  shall  say  to  anybody  who  mentions  it  to  me," 
she  said,  "  is  that  you  would  be  very  much  against  it.  But, 
of  course,  the  talk  isn't  serious.  Most  people  would  expect 
Katie  to  make  a  better  match  than  that." 


300  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  I  have  never  even  thought  of  Katie  making  a  match 
at  all — in  that  sort  of  way.  She  is  very  young,  for  one 
thing,  and  she  does  not  care  about  society.  My  husband 
and  I  would  be  quite  satisfied  for  her  to  marry  a  nice  man, 
by  and  by,  who  would  not  be  what  the  world  would  call  a 
great  match." 

This  was  absolutely  true.  Mrs.  Brown  was  intent  on  her 
own  career.  Her  daughter  could  neither  help  her  in  it  nor 
follow  such  a  career  for  herself.  A  "  great  match,"  if  it 
should  surprisingly  come  Katie's  way,  might  create  com- 
plications. Mrs.  Brown  did  not  want  "  greatness  "  in  her 
private  life,  of  which  Katie  was  a  part.  The  school  friends 
she  brought  into  it  gave  no  trouble.  Katie  would  do  very 
well  as  she  was. 

But  Mrs.  Fuller  was  quite  incapable  of  divining  all  this, 
and  thought  that  she  was  being  "  bluffed  "  or,  in  other 
words,  lied  to.  It  was  part  of  her  game,  however,  to 
accept  such  statements  at  their  face  value,  and  she  did  so 
now.  "  I  must  say  I  do  admire  that  in  you,"  she  said, 
"  that  you  are  so  free  from  what  I  call  snobbery.  The  way 
in  which  you  have  taken  up  the  Sheards  would  prove  it,  if 
nothing  else  did.  I  think  they  may  consider  themselves 
very  fortunate  to  have  such  people  as  yourselves  here. 
They  have  certainly  fallen  on  their  feet." 

"  The  Sheards  are  very  nice  people,"  said  Mrs.  Brown 
quite  sincerely.  They  again  were  accepted  as  part  of  her 
private  and  domestic  existence,  and  gave  her  no  trouble  in 
the  way  of  "  entertainment."  Mrs.  Fuller  disliked  them 
on  that  account. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  be  offended  with  me,"  she  said,  "  if 
I  say  that  Anne  Sheard  seems  to  me  to  be  a  little  over- 
free  in  her  manners  when  she  comes  up  here.  I  know  it 
is  a  vulgar  expression,  but  it  has  sometimes  occurred  to  me 
that  she  was  setting  her  cap  at  Mr.  Alfred." 


SIX  MONTHS  LATER  301 

Could  it  be  that  Mrs.  Brown  had  also  envisaged  this 
possibility,  and  that  it  bore  no  terrors  for  her?  She  said 
at  once  without  flinching:  "  There  is  nothing  in  that.  All 
the  young  people  are  very  good  friends  together.  It  is 
natural  that  a  young  man  should  be  attracted  by  a  pretty 
girl,  and  Anne  is  a  very  pretty  girl,  and  a  nice  one,  too." 

"  But,  dear  Mrs.  Brown,  surely  you  would  not  think  Anne 
Sheard  a  suitable  match  for  Mr.  Alfred !  " 

"  I  have  not  thought  about  it  at  all.  I  don't  think  there 
is  the  least  chance  of  such  a  thing  happening.  For  one 
thing,  unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken,  young  Mr.  Clinton 
and  Anne  Sheard  are  in  love  with  one  another." 

"  What,  Frank  Clinton !  Well,  I  shouldn't  advise  you 
to  hint  that  to  his  father.  It  wouldn't  suit  him  at  all." 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  hint  it  to  anybody,  and  I  hardly 
know  old  Mr.  Clinton.  But  his  son  has  been  over  here 
constantly  whenever  he  has  been  home  on  leave,  and  I 
think  that  is  the  attraction." 

"  Well,  I  don't  I  think  it's  Katie.  And  I  believe  old 
Mr.  Clinton  thinks  so  too." 

"  Why  do  you  think  that?  " 

"  A  little  bird  whispered  it  to  me.  Well,  I  won't  make 
a  mystery  of  it.  Wrhen  my  husband  was  over  at  Kencote  the 
other  day  about  this  dairying  business,  Mr.  Clinton  talked 
about  you  all  a  good  deal,  and  said  what  a  nice  girl  Katie 
was.  And  he  seemed  quite  pleased  at  Frank  coming  over 
here — talked  about  that  too.  Even  my  husband,  who  is  not 
observant  in  these  matters,  put  two  and  two  together.  And 
you  know  that  Katie  and  Mr.  Alfred  were  often  invited 
over  to  Kencote  in  the  summer,  whenever  Frank  Clinton 
was  at  home." 

The  idea  was  a  new  one  to  Mrs.  Brown.  "  I  think  it  is 
Anne,"  she  said,  but  said  it  doubtfully,  as  if  ready  to  admit 
herself  in  the  wrong. 


302  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  Should  you  object  to  that  as  a  match,"  asked  Mrs. 
Fuller,  "  if  it  proved  to  be  the  case  ?  " 

Mrs.  Brown  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  "  Oh,  I  am 
not  thinking  of  marriage  for  Katie,"  she  said  with  a  hint 
of  impatience.  "  And  I  am  sure  she  herself  has  no  idea  of 
such  a  thing." 

But  in  that  she  was  wrong. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
A  COUNTRY  WALK 

A  LONG  country  walk  was  not  much  in  Lord  Meadshire's 
way,  but  that  was  the  form  of  entertainment  to  which  he 
was  invited  one  Sunday  afternoon  at  this  time,  when  he 
and  Grace  had  been  lunching  at  Kemsale.  It  was  a  glorious 
sunny  day ;  they  would  go  up  through  the  woods  at  the  back 
of  Kemsale  and  along  the  ridge  to  where  a  particular  view 
could  be  obtained  of  the  two  valleys.  There  was  a  large 
party  of  them:  Meadshire  and  Lady  Grace,  the  Irvings, 
Frank  Clinton,  who  had  come  over  from  Kencote  to  lunch. 
William  and  Anne  Sheard,  and  a  friend  of  Katie's  staying 
in  the  house.  Mrs.  Brown  and  Aunt  Millie  preferred  to 
stay  at  home,  but  Uncle  James  and  Armitage  Brown  set 
out  with  the  rest. 

They  climbed  up  the  hill,  some  of  them  walking  faster 
than  others,  and  gradually  split  up  into  twos  and  threes. 
Presently  Meadshire  and  Katie  were  for  practice  of  speech 
alone  together. 

"  There  was  a  time,"  said  Meadshire,  "  when  I  liked  this 
sort  of  thing;  and  I  generally  led  the  party.  I  had  long 
legs,  which  I  have  still,  and  a  thin  body,  which  I  have  lost 
Now  I  must  puff  and  pant  in  the  rear,  and  rather  wish  I 
hadn't  come  at  all." 

"  I  think  exercise  is  very  good  for  you,"  said  Katie. 
"  You  go  about  far  too  much  in  your  car." 

"  My  dear  child,  I  am  getting  old.  Exercise  is  an  abom- 
ination unto  me." 

303 


304  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  You  are  not  old  at  all.  You  are  not  much  older  than 
Captain  Irving,  and  he  seems  like  a  young  man." 

"  He  has  led  a  good  life,  you  see,  and  has  therefore  pre- 
served his  splendid  youth.  I  have  not  led  a  good  life,  and 
I  am  old." 

"  All  that  is  over  now,"  she  said  with  an  air  of  great 
decision.  "  It  is  not  to  be  thought  about  any  more.  It  is 
not  to  happen  again ;  it  will  not  happen  again." 

He  looked  down  at  her  half  quizzically,  half  tenderly. 
They  made  rather  a  queer  couple,  he  with  his  great  height 
and  heavy  shoulders,  walking  as  if  walking  were  not  the 
most  natural  mode  of  progression  for  mankind,  she,  short 
and  erect,  with  a  step  full  of  spring  and  energy.  "  You're 
very  certain  of  that,  aren't  you  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I  am.  You  see  now  what  a  mistake  it  has  all  been, 
and  what  trouble  it  brings  to  those  who  care  for  you." 

"  Are  you  one  of  them  ?  " 

"  You  know  I  am,"  she  said  very  boldly.  "  First  of  all, 
I  cared  about  it  because  of  dear  Grace;  and  then,  when  I 
saw  that  it  wasn't  really  part  of  you,  and  that  it  spoilt 
everything,  I  cared  because  of  you." 

"  You  wanted  to  pluck  a  brand  from  the  burning?  " 

"  I  felt  that  I  wanted  to  help  you.  One  likes  to  help 
one's  friends." 

"  You  have  been  a  very  good  friend  to  me,  little  Miss 
Brown.  If  I  had  known  you,  or  somebody  like  you,  twenty 
years  ago,  things  might  have  been  very  different  with  me." 

"Well,  they  are  going  to  be  different  now.  It  is  never 
too  late  to  mend." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that.  It's  all  a  good  deal  harder 
than  you  think.  The  spirit  is  willing,  but  the  flesh  is 
weak." 

"  Oh,  I  hate  to  Hear  you  talk  like  that,"  she  said.  "  It 
isn't  the  way  to  do  anything.  You  must  make  up  your 


A  COUNTRY  WALK  305 

mind  firmly;  you  must  stiffen  yourself.  One  can  do  any- 
thing that  one  determines  to  do." 

He  laughed  at  her  gently.  "  You  could,  I  believe,"  he 
said.  "  But,  you  see,  you  have  never  played  with  yourself ; 
you've  got  your  will-power  undisturbed;  you're  young,  and 
full  of  energy  and  confidence.  When  one  has  reached  my 
age,  and  made  such  a  mess  of  things  all  round,  there  doesn't 
seem  to  be  much  left  to  try  for.  Then  when  the  trouble 
comes,  one  says  to  one's  self,  after  holding  out  perhaps  for 
a  bit:  'After  all,  why  shouldn't  I?  I'm  doing  nobody 
any  harm  but  myself,  and  what  does  that  matter? 

"  Yes,  you  have  said  that  to  yourself  before ;  but  you 
are  not  going  to  say  it  any  more.  It  is  different  now." 

"  How  is  it  different  now,  little  Miss  Brown?  " 

"  Because  you  have  people  who  believe  in  you.  I  believe 
in  you;  and  Grace  believes  in  you." 

"  Poor  dear  Grace !  She  was  beginning  to,  before 
that  little  set-back  we  had  in  the  summer.  I  say,  it 
seems  rather  odd  that  I  should  be  talking  about  these 
things  to  you." 

"  I  think  it  is  a  very  good  thing  for  us  to  talk  about 
them.  I  used  to  wish  I  could,  when  Grace  first  told  me 
all  about  it;  and  when  you  came  back  again  I  wished  it 
more  than  ever.  It  was  one  of  the  proudest  days  of  my 
life  when  we  did  begin  to  talk  about  it  together.  I  felt 
that  I  was  trusted,  and  could  begin  to  do  something.  I 
hate  standing  by  and  doing  nothing." 

"  Yes,  you're  a  chip  of  the  old  block  in  that,  aren't 
you?  Do  you  know  that  your  father  also  had  a  word 
with  me  about  my  little  failing?  " 

"He  was  sorry  about  it,  I  know;  and  he  likes  you. 
What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  I  shan't  tell  you  what  he  said.  At  least,  I'll  tell  you 
some  of  it.  He  thinks  I  ought  to  do  something.  He  thinks 


306  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

I'm  a  pretty  useless  sort  of  fellow  as  I  am.  And  he's  not 
far  wrong  there." 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  do  something,  too." 

"  What  do  you  think  I  ought  to  do?  I'm  afraid  I  don't 
possess  the  financial  genius  of  your  father.  Doing  some- 
thing in  these  days  generally  means  making  money.  I've 
got  a  genius  for  spending  it,  but  I'm  afraid  there's  nothing, 
much  to  be  made  of  that.  Besides,  I've  lost  my  lavish 
tastes.  They  seem  to  have  dropped  away  from  me  since 
I've  been  living  her  quietly  with  Grace.  It's  a  rotten 
game,  anyhow,  chucking  money  away,  and  the  friends  you 
make  over  it  are  rotten  friends.  I  think  you  can  trust 
me  there,  little  Miss  Brown.  That  side  of  my  vivid  career 
is  over  and  done  with." 

"  I  trust  you  in  much  more  than  that,"  she  said  simply. 
"  What  I  think  you  ought  to  do  is  to  take  up  some  public 
work.  It  is  what  people  like  you  are  there  for,  and  your 
ancestors  did  a  great  deal,  I  know.  I  was  reading  about 
them  the  other  day  in  a  book  at  Kemsale.  They  won  all 
sorts  of  honours  for  you,  and  the  honours  have  descended 
to  you,  and  you  ought  to  show  that  you  are  worthy  of 
them." 

"  Noblesse  oblige,"  he  said,  laughing  at  her  again.  "  It 
doesn't  oblige  much  in  these  days,  and  the  time  has  gone 
by  for  me.  No,  I'm  a  useless  sort  of  fellow  all  round.  I 
shall  do  best  by  living  here  quietly  and  behaving  myself  as 
well  as  I  can.  Fortunately  the  line  comes  to  an  end  with  me. 
It's  something  to  my  credit  that  I  haven't  continued  it." 

It  was  true  that  throughout  all  his  follies  and  his  loose- 
ness he  had  kept  to  that  determination.  He  had  broken 
up  the  fortunes  of  his  house,  but  he  would  not  bequeath 
the  fragments  of  its  ruin  to  heirs  of  his  body;  he  would 
not  marry,  and  share  his  disgrace  with  a  wife.  Did  he 
know  now  that  he  might  do  so,  that  this  brave  strong 


A  COUNTRY  WALK  307 

confident  girl  walking  by  his  side  was  ready  to  join  her 
clean  life  to  his  damaged  one,  to  bear  the  burden  of  his 
weakness  with  him,  to  lift  him  out  of  the  slough  in  which 
he  had  involved  himself?  He  knew  it  very  well. 

When  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  a  friendship  between 
Kemsale  and  the  Herons'  Nest  were  done  away  with,  the 
friendship  followed  very  quickly.  The  impetuosity  with 
which  Katie  cleared  out  her  rooms  and  transferred  their 
contents  to  Grace  at  the  earliest  possible  moment,  and 
sent  her  own  warm  heart  with  them  to  make  amends  for 
the  wrong  done,  left  no  doubt  as  to  the  value  of  her  friend- 
ship. She  was  longing  to  love  Grace,  if  Grace  would  let 
her,  and  Grace  very  soon  came  to  love  her.  They  were 
happy  together  during  the  weeks  of  early  summer.  They 
went  about  amongst  the  country  people,  who  also  learnt 
to  love  Katie,  as  they  had  always  loved  Grace.  The  two 
were  a  complete  contrast,  Grace  gentle  and  sweet,  but  too 
yielding,  Katie  energetic  and  clear-sighted.  Meadshire 
showed  his  liking  for  his  little  Miss  Brown,  chaffed  her 
and  teased  her,  and  sometimes  succeeded  in  arousing  her 
strong  indignation  against  him.  At  that  time  neither  he 
nor  Grace  nor  Katie  herself  could  have  thought  of  any 
closer  tie  between  them. 

Then  came  the  time  when  he  began  to  get  moody  and 
morose.  Katie  began  to  dislike  him.  She  knew  nothing 
of  his  failing.  She  saw  Grace  becoming  sadder  and  sadder, 
and  thought  that  there  must  be  some  dispute  between  them, 
and  he  was  treating  her  unkindly.  Once  she  spoke  to 
him  with  indignation  about  it,  and  he  glared  at  her,  and 
turned  away  without  speaking.  The  next  day  he  disap- 
peared, and  for  a  week  Grace  shut  herself  up  and  would 
see  nobody. 

Then  she  told  Katie  her  troubles,  and  seemed  to  lean 
on  her  for  support  and  consolation  in  her  bitter  disap- 


308  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

pointment.  For  a  year  had  passed  since  this  had  hap- 
pened, and  she  had  begun  to  think  that  it  might  never 
happen  again. 

When  Meadshire  came  back,  two  months  later,  so  much 
subdued  that  there  was  no  chaff  left  in  him,  and  he  seemed 
ashamed  to  see  Katie  in  the  house,  and  escaped  her  when- 
ever she  came  there,  ambition  awoke  in  her  to  show  herself 
worthy  of  Grace's  confidence,  to  do  something  to  help 
these  kind  friends  in  their  trouble.  For  it  seemed  to  her 
in  her  innocence  that  Meadshire  only  wanted  taking  out 
of  himself  and  showing  that  his  fault  was  forgiven  him 
to  regain  his  self-respect,  and  be  as  he  had  been  before, 
and  better  than  he  had  been  before.  She  felt  protective, 
almost  motherly,  towards  him.  He  was  so  like  a  naughty 
child  who  must  be  encouraged  not  to  brood  too  much  upon 
his  fault,  but  to  make  up  his  mind  that  it  should  never 
occur  again.  So  she  took  much  pains  to  raise  him  out  of 
his  despondency,  and  presently  succeeded. 

Then  came  the  time  when  he  talked  to  her  about  him- 
self, and  she  spoke  truly  when  she  said  afterwards  that 
this  was  a  proud  moment  for  her.  She  could  strengthen 
and  inspirit  him  now.  She  knew  that  Grace  had  come  to 
feel  great  confidence  in  her  influence  over  him,  and  with- 
out any  real  knowledge  of  the  task  before  her  she  thought 
herself  eminently  capable  of  raising  him  out  of  the 
mire. 

It  is  doubtful  if  she  did  much  more  than  keep  him 
amused,  although  his  liking  and  respect  for  her  grew. 
But  to  Grace  she  seemed  to  be  performing  wonders.  Grace 
herself  had  never  felt  that  she  had  any  real  hold  over  him, 
much  as  she  loved  him,  and  ready  as  she  was  to  do  every- 
thing she  could  to  help  him.  She  thought  that  Katie,  with 
her  bright  confident  strength,  could  have  kept  him  straight 
if  she  had  been  in  her  place.  And  by  and  by  she  began 


A  COUNTRY  WALK  309 

to  form  a  hope  that  she  might  take  a  closer  place  than  hers, 
and  give  him  back  some  of  the  years  that  he  had  lost. 

She  waited  for  a  while,  and  then  in  her  almost  feverish 
anxiety  asked  him  if  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to 
marry  Katie.  She  put  it  like  that;  she  thought  she  knew 
that  Katie  would  accept  him  if  he  asked  her. 

He  laughed  at  her,  as  he  laughed  at  most  things,  but 
showed  that  the  idea  was  not  new  to  him.  "  She's  a  dear 
little  thing/'  he  said.  "  I  could  get  on  very  well  with 
her.  If  it  had  been  ten  years  ago,  I  dare  say  I  might 
have  tried  my  luck.  But  it's  too  late  now.  I  like  the 
little  thing  too  much  to  want  to  tie  her  up  to  a  person 
like  myself,  at  her  age  and  at  mine;  or  perhaps  I  don't 
like  her  enough.  It's  a  little  of  both." 

Then  Grace  talked  to  Katie,  and  found  out  that  to 
her  the  idea  was  new  and  alarming.  The  gentle  creature 
reproached  herself  for  her  thoughts  about  the  girl,  but 
her  desires  were  so  strong,  were  indeed  heightened  by 
her  discovery  that  Katie's  firmness  and  self-reliance  went 
along  with  so  much  innocence  and  simpleness  of  mind, 
that  she  would  not  let  her  alone,  the  ice  once  broken.  They 
talked  it  over  together  many  times,  not  without  tears  and 
strong  emotion  on  either  side,  and  at  last  Katie  said:  "  If 
he  wants  me,  I  will  take  him.  I  will  give  up  my  life  to 
save  him  from  himself.  I  know  he  is  good  and  kind  at 
heart,  but  he  is  weak,  and  I  know  that  I  am  strong.  Yes, 
Grace,  I  will. 

She  was  uplifted  by  her  decision.  She  had  a  task  to 
perform.  She  would  not  only  save  and  protect  this  man 
from  his  faults,  she  would  make  something  of  him,  and 
be  proud  of  him.  Of  her  own  risk  she  thought  nothing, 
partly  because  she  was  ignorant  of  it,  partly  because  she 
was  so  sure  of  herself. 

And  so  the  matter  stood  on  this  Sunday  afternoon.     She 


310  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

was  ready  to  take  him  if  he  should  ask  her.  But  appar- 
ently he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  ask  her.  Her 
exaltation  still  held,  but  it  was  becoming  a  little  dimmed. 
Although  she  talked  to  him  so  confidently  and  so  quietly, 
she  was  not  happy,  either  with  him  or  with  herself.  Indeed, 
her  free  youthful  happiness  seemed  to  be  slowly  departing 
from  her.  Perhaps  she  would  never  recapture  it  again, 
whether  she  made  her  sacrifice  or  whether  it  should  not 
be  required  of  her. 

There  was  another  couple  much  interested  in  one  another 
who  took  advantage  of  that  winter  walk  to  secure  a  prac- 
tical solitude  in  the  midst  of  the  little  crowd.  They  were 
Frank  Clinton  and  Anne  Sheard,  who  had  reached  the 
stage  of  looking  into  one  another's  eyes  and  finding  infinite 
meaning  there,  though  the  meaning  was  not  yet  declared 
between  them.  It  was  with  a  delicious  sense  of  hazard 
that  they  had  found  themselves  together  and  separating 
from  the  rest.  Each  of  them  had  wanted  that,  but  had 
not  been  sure  that  it  could  be  brought  about,  or  that  the 
other  wanted  it.  And  now  that  they  were  together,  and 
the  rest,  though  within  sight,  were  not  within  hearing, 
they  were  so  happy  that  they  scarcely  knew  what  to  do 
with  their  opportunity. 

When  Frank's  long  leave  in  the  early  summer  had 
come  to  an  end,  he  had  been  appointed  to  a  ship  sta- 
tioned at  Chatham.  It  was  the  first  time  in  his  naval 
career  that  he  had  been  employed  in  home  waters,  and 
the  number  of  times  that  he  had  been  able  to  put  in  an 
appearance  at  Kencote,  and  consequently  at  Kemsale,  if 
only  for  a  day,  had  seemed  to  indicate  that  leave  was  very 
easily  obtainable  for  lieutenants  in  His  Majesty's  Navy. 

He  had  not  for  some  time  admitted  to  himself  that  he 
was  very  deeply  in  love  with  Anne.  He  had  been  en- 
couraged to  go  over  to  Kemsale  during  his  leave,  and  as 


A  COUNTRY  WALK  311 

it  had  coincided  with  Charles  Sheard's,  he  had  never  gone 
there  without  going  to  the  rectory,  unless  the  young  Sheards 
were  up  at  the  big  house,  as  they  often  were.  A  great 
deal  of  lawn  tennis  was  played  at  Kemsale  during  that 
summer,  and  a  certain  amount  of  golf;  Frank  liked  Katie 
and  Alfred  Brown,  and  told  himself  that  he  would  have 
gone  over  just  as  often  if  the  Sheards  had  not  been  there. 
Perhaps  he  might  have  gone,  or  nearly  as  often,  for  there 
were  no  young  people  at  Kencote  now,  Joan  having  re- 
turned to  her  resplendent  duties  in  London.  At  any  rate, 
the  excuse  had  been  quite  satisfactory,  and  he  was  enabled 
to  satisfy  his  father's  curious  thirst  for  news  about  his 
doings  at  Kemsale  whenever  he  returned  from  one  of  his 
visits.  He  never  failed  to  mention  the  young  Sheards  when 
they  had  been  of  the  party,  and  Anne  and  Charles  and 
William  had  been  to  Kencote  with  Katie  and  Alfred  on 
return  visits,  and  had  been  affably  entreated  by  the  Squire, 
who  had  never,  however,  broken  out  into  commendation  of 
Anne  as  he  constantly  did  of  Katie. 

It  was  not  until  Frank  had  left  Kencote  that  he  dis- 
covered how  very  much  he  had  enjoyed  the  past  few 
weeks.  It  had  been  the  best  leave  he  had  ever  spent, 
and  he  had  never  once  slept  away  from  Kencote.  When 
he  found  how  much  drawn  he  was  to  go  back  there  on 
all  possible  occasions,  he  could  no  longer  disguise  from 
himself  the  attraction  that  drew  him,  and  being  of  a 
direct  habit  of  mind,  and  no  longer  a  boy,  began  to  ask 
himself  whither  he  was  tending. 

The  result  of  his  self-questionings  was  that  he  began 
to  think  about  Anne  from  a  slightly  different  angle.  That 
the  thought  of  her  made  his  blood  run  warm  was  not 
quite  enough.  That  had  happened  to  him  with  other  girls, 
though  never  to  the  same  extent;  there  were  photographs 
-of  one  or  two  of  them  in  his  cabin,  but  there  was  not 


312  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

one  of  them  that  he  had  studied  so  earnestly  as  he  did 
the  snapshot  of  Anne  standing  on  the  tennis-court  at 
Kencote  that  he  had  taken  himself.  It  did  not  seem  to 
him  possible  that  this  was  a  passing  fancy,  to  fade  away 
in  time  like  the  others.  It  was  of  a  different  quality 
altogether. 

The  idea  of  marriage  with  Anne  gave  him  a  deep  thrill, 
but  it  could  not  be  admitted  without  careful  consideration. 
It  was  only  when  he  told  himself  that  if  he  was  not 
prepared  to  woo  her  in  earnest  he  ought  not  to  be  con- 
stantly making  plans  to  see  her,  that  he  realized  what  a 
blank  his  life  there  would  be  if  he  were  not  so  prepared. 

She  was  very  young,  hardly  more  than  a  child ;  and  he 
was  coming  to  the  end  of  his  youth.  It  was  a  disturbing 
thought  that  she  might  not  regard  him  as  young  at  all. 

It  was  quite  certain  that  there  would  be  trouble  in  the 
camp  at  Kencote  if  he  were  to  announce  his  intention  of 
bringing  home  Anne  as  a  bride.  That  would  not  worry 
him  much  if  the  reasons  for  it  did  not  affect  him  personally, 
and  he  had  to  make  up  his  mind,  without  blinking  facts, 
whether  they  did  or  not. 

Anne  was  the  sweetest  creature  in  the  world,  but  she 
was  not  sprung  from  the  kind  of  stock  from  which  brides 
were  sought  at  Kencote.  Did  that  matter? 

No;  it  didn't  matter  to  him.  Anne  was  Anne,  and  her 
"  people  "  were  worthy  of  all  respect.  Their  ways  were 
slightly  different  from  the  ways  of  his  people,  and  that 
was  all.  The  difference  of  their  ways  was  almost  entirely 
based  upon  the  lack  of  money,  and  he  smiled  to  himself  as 
he  invented  a  question  for  his  father:  "What  is  the  dif- 
ference between  the  Sheards  and  the  Browns,  if  you  leave 
money  out  of  account?  " 

He  found  that  he  had  acquired  a  deep  respect  for  Anne's 
father,  and  it  was  based  partly  upon  the  very  fact  of  his 


A  COUNTRY  WALK  313 

not  being  of  a  birth  and  position  equal  to  his  own,  or 
his  father's.  How  many  men  were  there  who  would  have 
made  of  themselves  what  he  had,  or  having  gained  his 
success  would  have  used  it  with  such  singleness  of  mind, 
such  entire  absence  of  unworthy  ambitions?  His  was  a 
fine  character;  it  had  gone  towards  the  making  of  Anne. 
If  Anne's  parents  were  to  be  taken  into  account,  her 
father  ought  to  weigh  the  balance  in  her  favour,  not 
against  it,  if  he  were  to  be  judged  by  worthy  standards. 
As  for  her  mother,  she  was  more  definitely  marked  of 
the  origin  to  which  the  Squire  would  make  strong  ob- 
jections. But  that  was  all  that  could  be  said  against  her. 
She  was  a  good  simple-minded  woman,  unselfish  and  warm- 
hearted. And  her  character  also  had  gone  to  the  making 
of  Anne. 

Frank  had  met  all  Anne's  brothers  and  sisters  now,  and 
had  liked  them  all.  John,  the  Cambridge  don,  was  like 
other  young  Cambridge  clerical  dons,  rather  older  than 
his  years  in  some  things,  rather  young  in  others.  He  had 
the  family  sturdiness,  both  in  mind  and  body.  Henry, 
the  young  house-surgeon,  was  much  like  him.  Neither  of 
them  was  in  the  least  ornamental;  Henry  had  not  quite 
got  over  his  medical  student's  roughness.  If  Dick  or 
Humphrej',  or  even  Walter,  had  been  at  the  University 
with  them,  they  would  have  left  them  out  of  account,  as 
belonging  to  the  great  mass  of  undergraduates  who  led 
lives  quite  apart  from  theirs.  But  those  standards  change. 
Certainly  Walter  now,  and  probably  Dick  and  Humphrey, 
would  accept  men  working  diligently  and  successfully  at 
their  professions  on  their  merits. 

Frank  could  not  avoid  bringing  in  his  brothers  to  sit 
in  judgment  upon  Anne's  brothers.  They  were  all  some 
years  older  than  he,  and  he  had  accepted  their  standards 
in  his  youth — the  standards  of  their  schools  and  colleges, 


314  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

which  were  socially  narrower  than  those  his  own  educa- 
tion had  taught  him;  for  in  the  Navy  there  are  real 
things  to  do  from  the  first,  and  ability  cannot  be  left 
out  of  account.  He  had  been  interested  to  see  what  Dick 
would  make  out  of  William  Sheard  when  he  took  him 
over  with  Charles  to  fish  at  Kencote.  Dick  had  been 
kind  to  him  and  had  given  him  a  rod;  he  had  taken 
no  notice  of  his  deficiencies  of  costume,  or,  if  he  had 
noticed  them,  had  not  remarked  upon  them.  Dick  could 
always  be  relied  on  to  behave  perfectly,  but  Frank  had 
a  suspicion  that  his  courtesy  would  receive  a  severe  strain 
if  he  were  called  upon  to  extend  it  to  Anne's  brothers 
in  any  closer  degree  than  as  the  sons  of  a  neighbouring 
parson.  But  one  never  knew  with  Dick.  Virginia  had 
broadened  him  in  some  respects;  he  had  a  clear  brain, 
and,  for  a  man  of  his  native  prejudices,  a  tolerant  out- 
look. 

Mary  Sheard,  the  elder  daughter,  was  the  energetic  capa- 
ble mistress  of  a  class  in  a  big  London  High  School,  very 
interested  in  her  work,  standing  no  nonsense,  a  little  in- 
clined to  be  critical  of  Anne,  who  was  not  striving  after 
scholastic  success  in  the  way  she  herself  had  been  doing 
at  her  age.  Perhaps  it  was  on  account  of  this  critical 
attitude  that  Frank  liked  her  the  least  of  any  of  her 
family ;  and  somehow,  with  her  half-masculine  "sensible- 
ness,"  she  seemed  more  of  a  stumbling-block  in  the  way 
of  a  complete  understanding  between  his  people  and  hers 
than  anything  else.  His  young  sisters,  in  the  stage  of 
pupilage,  would  have  "  led  her  a  dance."  They  might 
have  liked  her,  as  a  human  being,  as  he  tried  now,  not 
altogether  without  success,  to  do.  But  the  schoolmistress 
would  have  been  most  apparent  in  her.  Still,  she  was 
not  Anne,  and  would  not  matter  much.  He  wished  that 
Joan  had  seen  Anne.  Cicely  had,  and  had  taken  to  her. 


A  COUNTRY  WALK  315 

She  had  even  wondered  whether  it  would  be  possible  to 
get  her  to  Mountfield  as  first  governess  to  her  children. 
That  was  the  sort  of  complication  that  it  was  impossible 
to  get  away  from,  and  made  an  examination  of  the  Sheards' 
condition  essential,  distasteful  as  it  was. 

When  it  all  came  to  be  summed  up,  Anne's  extreme 
youth  and  the  very  short  time  he  had  known  her  were 
the  only  things  that  held  him  back.  He  was  not  a  boy 
to  rush  into  an  engagement  with  a  pretty  girl  who  had 
made  an  impression  upon  him.  He  must  have  more  time. 
But  no  consideration  deterred  him  from  seeing  as  much 
of  her  as  he  could  during  that  summer  and  autumn,  and 
now  at  the  end  of  it  he  knew  that  the  impression  she  had 
made  upon  him  was  not  a  passing  one.  He  loved  her 
deeply  and  truly,  and  loved  her  more  every  time  he  saw 
her.  And  by  this  time  there  was  very  little  doubt  that 
she  loved  him.  Her  looks  and  her  words  gave  him  the 
sweetest  thrills  when  he  recalled  them  in  the  silence  of 
his  night  watches,  going  over  every  minute  of  the  time 
he  had  passed  with  her,  and  ardently  longing  to  be  with 
her  again. 

He  was  just  at  that  stage  when  his  final  word  hung 
upon  a  chance.  He  could  not  be  quite  sure  what  the 
answer  would  be  until  he  had  said  the  word,  and  the 
state  of  tremulous  happiness  in  which  they  were  living 
was  too  sweet  to  be  cut  short  except  at  the  bidding  of 
strong  emotion. 

The  word  was  not  spoken  that  afternoon.  They  talked 
of  everything  but  their  love  for  each  other,  but  that  was 
implied  in  everything  that  they  said.  The  word  trembled 
on  his  lips  many  times,  but  he  held  it  back,  he  could  not 
have  told  why.  At  the  end,  their  solitude  was  suddenly 
invaded  by  Meadshire  and  Katie  catching  them  up,  and 
he  was  not  alone  with  Anne  again.  The  chance  had  passed, 


316  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

but  it  would  come  again.  It  would  come  at  Christmas- 
time, when  he  would  get  a  long  leave,  and  so  much  would 
be  going  on  at  Kemsale  that  they  would  meet  every  day. 
And  in  the  meantime  this  walk  had  given  him  a  crowd 
of  sweet  memories  on  which  to  feed  until  he  saw  her  again. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A  DIFFERENCE  OF  PRINCIPLE 

ARMITAGE  BROWN  was  angry.  Anger  was  a  passion  that 
he  rarely  indulged  in,  and  when  he  did  he  kept  its  expression 
rigidly  subdued,  and  used  other  means  to  make  it  felt. 
It  had  seldom  happened  that  those  means  had  not  been 
efficacious  in  removing  the  cause  of  his  anger. 

But  his  wife  was  the  cause  of  his  anger  now,  and  he 
could  not  remove  her.  He  must  make  his  will  felt  otherwise. 

They  were  in  her  boudoir  together.  It  was  a  room  he 
seldom  visited.  It  was  not  used  except  in  the  daytime, 
and  in  the  daytime  their  ways  had  always  lain  apart 
They  did  so  now  whenever  he  spent  his  time  at  Kemsale. 
He  had  his  interests  and  she  had  hers.  They  had  never 
clashed  before,  but  they  were  clashing  now,  and  he  had 
come  to  tell  her  that  the  clashing  must  cease. 

"  I  thought  it  was  understood,"  he  was  saying,  "  that 
after  what  happened  here  a  month  ago,  the  house  was 
not  to  be  filled  again  with  strangers." 

"  But,  Armitage,  these  people  are  not  strangers." 

"  I  call  them  strangers.  At  any  rate  they  are  exactly 
the  same  sort  of  people  as  were  asked  here  before.  Call 
them  what  you  like.  They  are  not  coming  here  again." 

She  was  offended  by  his  brusqueness.  "  You  have  never 
spoken  to  me  like  that  before,"  she  said. 

He  took  a  seat  deliberately.  "  It  is  quite  time  I  spoke 
plainly,"  he  said,  "  and  I  do  so  now  once  for  all.  I  have 
never,  as  far  as  I  remember,  once  interfered  with 

317 


SIB  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

your  way  of  living,  though  it  hasn't  always  suited  me. 
Since  we  first  went  abroad  you  have  spent  enormous  sums 
of  money  on  your  parties,  and  on  people  that  I  don't 
care  a  bit  about,  except  one  or  two  here  and  there,  and 
I  don't  believe  you  care  about  them  any  more  than  I  do. 
I  don't  grudge  you  the  money — that's  nothing;  spend 
what  you  like  in  any  way  that  amuses  you.  And  I  don't 
grudge  you  your  parties,  as  long  as  you  keep  them  to  their 
proper  place.  Their  proper  place  is  in  London  and  at 
the  villa,  not  at  Kemsale." 

"  Why  don't  you  want  people  invited  to  Kemsale  ?  It 
is  the  regular  thing  to  do  with  a  great  house  like  this  ?  " 

"What  do  I  care  about  the  regular  thing?  I'm  not 
going  to  give  up  my  home  to  what  you  call  the  regular 
thing.  I  don't  object  to  people  being  invited  to  Kemsale 
if  they  are  my  friends,  or  yours,  or  the  children's  friends. 
I  like  to  see  them  here,  and  the  more  of  them  there  are 
the  better  I  like  it.  And  I  like  to  see  people  here  from 
the  neighbourhood.  I  should  like  to  see  a  good  many  more 
of  them,  not  only  the  people  from  the  big  houses,  but 
the  others  as  well." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  others  ?  Do  you  mean  the 
farmers  and  the  tradespeople?" 

"  I  shouldn't  at  all  object  to  seeing  some  of  the  farmers 
here.  But  I  think  you  know  quite  well  what  I  mean^ 
and  I  do  mean  it.  The  people  I  don't  want  to  see  here, 
and  am  not  going  to  have  here,  are  the  people  who  come 
just  for  what  they  can  get  and  are  only  asked  because 
they're  what's  called  smart.  I'll  ask  you  to  accept  that 
decision  and  act  upon  it  for  the  future." 

There  was  a  dull  flush  on  her  face.  It  was  true  that 
he  had  never  spoken  to  her  in  this  way  before.  But  then 
she  had  never  given  him  occasion  to.  Was  it  worth  while, 
for  the  sake  of  her  ambitions,  to  hold  out  against  him  ?  She 


A  DIFFERENCE  OF  PRINCIPLE  319 

was  a  proud  woman;  she  could  not  give  in,  in  a  matter  in 
which  he  had  never  before  interfered,  for  just  a  word  from 
him,  not  too  courteously  expressed. 

"  I  think  you  are  taking  a  very  extraordinary  line,"  she 
said.  "  Do  you  really  mean,  after  all  these  years,  that  I 
am  not  allowed  to  ask  my  friends  to  my  house." 

He  shifted  in  his  seat.  "  I'll  put  it  more  plainly  still," 
he  said.  "  This  isn't  a  small  matter ;  it  has  come  to 
be  an  important  difference  of  principle  between  you  and 
me;  and  where  it  is  a  question  of  principle  I  am  going 
to  have  my  way,  as  head  of  the  house." 

"  How  can  you  talk  about  a  question  of  principle  in 
such  a  matter  as  this?  One  would  think  I  was  propos- 
ing to  do  something  definitely  wrong." 

"  Well,  I  think  it  is  wrong.  You  talked  just  now  about 
asking  your  friends  here.  Please  tell  me  this:  out  of 
all  those  people  who  came  here  to  shoot  the  other  day, 
how  many  were  really  your  friends?  Which  of  them 
would  you  ask  to  spend  a  week  with  you  here  alone,  as 
you  would  ask  James  and  Millie,  for  instance?  " 

"  That  is  quite  different." 

"  I  know  it  is  quite  different.  That  is  just  what  I  am 
saying.  Not  one  of  those  people  was  a  friend  of  yours 
in  any  way.  You  didn't  know  what  to  do  with  them 
when  they  were  here.  They  were  as  much  a  nuisance  to 
you  in  the  house  as  they  were  to  me ;  in  •  fact,  more  so, 
for  there  were  one  or  two  I  liked  talking  to,  and  I  don't 
think  there  was  a  single  one  that  you  did.  The  fact  of 
the  matter  is,  my  dear,  you  don't  make  friends.  It  may 
seem  a  harsh  thing  to  say,  but  it's  perfectly  true.  You 
are  loyal  enough  to  the  few  you  have,  but  there  isn't  a 
single  one  of  them  that  belongs  to  the  smart  world,  and 
you're  really  not  comfortable  with  people  of  that  sort 
when  you've  got  them  round  you.  I'm  not  either,  though, 


320  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

upon  my  word,  I  think  I'm  more  comfortable  with  them 
than    you    are.      They're    just    furniture    for    your    smart, 
parties.     Keep  them  so,  if  it  amuses  you  to  have  them;     I 
don't  complain  of  that;    but  don't  mix  them  up  with  your 
home  life.    They  only  spoil  it." 

What  he  had  said,  though  wounding  her,  was  too  true 
to  be  contradicted.  She  had  not  thought  he  had  seen  it. 
She  had  even  thought  that  he  had  taken  some  pride  in 
her  social  successes,  that  it  had  suited  him  that  she  should 
play  the  part  that  she  had,  the  part  for  which  he  was  not 
fitted  himself.  She  could  not  even  now  believe  that  he 
was  quite  indifferent  to  it. 

"  I  really  don't  understand  you,"  she  said.  "  I  know 
that  there  was  a  time  when  you  preferred  to  live  quietly 
at  Hillgrove,  and  keep  clear  of  society  altogether.  But 
when  you  became  very  well  known,  I  thought  that  you 
had  made  up  your  mind  that  you  could  not  go  on  hiding 
yourself  there,  that  you  must  mix  more  with  the  world. 
I  have  done  everything  for  you  in  that  way,  taken  all  the 
burden  of  it  off  your  shoulders,  and  brought  you  into  touch 
with  all  sorts  of  people.  I  thought  that  I  was  helping 
you,  and  doing  what  you  wished." 

"  Well,  if  I  thought  you  had  done  it  entirely  for  my 
sake,  I'd  say  thank  you,  you've  done  it  very  well.  But  I 
don't  want  to  be  unfair;  it  suits  me  all  right  that  I'm  known 
in  London  not  merely  as  a  man  who  grubs  for  money  in 
the  City.  To  that  extent  the  place  you've  made  for 
yourself,  and  I  suppose  me  with  you,  is  worth  something. 
As  far  as  I'm  concerned  it's  worth  just  the  trouble  I  take 
to  go  out  when  I'd  rather  be  sitting  at  home,  and  not  a 
bit  more  than  that,  except  that  it  pleases  you.  But  here 
it's  different.  This  is  my  home.  Can't  you  see  it?  It 
doesn't  seem  to  me  very  difficult." 

"  When  we  decided  on  this  place  out  of  all  the  others 


A  DIFFERENCE  OF  PRINCIPLE  321 

we  considered,  there  was  no  talk  of  our  having  a  large 
London  house.  That  came  afterwards.  If  you  had  said 
at  that  time:  take  a  London  house  to  see  people  in,  and 
a  country  house  to  retire  to,  I  should  have  liked  that  very 
well.  But  we  certainly  shouldn't  have  bought  Kemsale, 
which  is  quite  absurd  for  a  place  to  shut  one's  self  up  in. 
It  was  to  be — or  so  I  understood  it — the  place  in  which 
we  were  to  make  the  difference.  We  had  shut  ourselves 
up  at  Hillgrove.  There  was  no  idea  of  our  shutting  our- 
selves up  here." 

"  You  talk  a  lot  of  our  shutting  ourselves  up,  and  that's 
the  last  thing  I  want,  and  the  last  thing  we're  doing. 
We  must  have  a  dozen  young  people  staying  in  the  house 
now,  and  more  coming.  I  like  all  that.  Give  them  their 
ball  by  all  means,  and  all  the  fun  you  can.  That's  all  I 
thought  it  meant  till  I  tumbled  to  it  that  it  was  going 
to  be  made  an  excuse  for  another  party  of  the  sort  we 
had  here  a  month  ago.  That  will  spoil  everything, 
and  I " 

"  Wait  a  minute,  please,  Armitage.  I  want  to  see  ex- 
actly what  it  is  that  you  do  want,  and  what  it  is  that 
you  are  blaming  me  for.  Is  it  not  a  fact  that  when  you 
bought  this  place  it  was  because  you  were  ready  to  come 
out  of  your  shell,  and  to  see  more  of  the  world?  When 
we  settled  upon  this  enormous  house,  before  we  decided 
to  have  one  in  London  as  well,  did  you  really  mean  that 
we  were  to  keep  it  to  ourselves,  and  to  Alfred's  and 
Katie's  friends?  That  is  what  I  want  to  know." 

He  had  recovered  his  good  humour.  He  was  going  to 
have  his  own  way.  He  had  said  the  unpleasant  thing 
that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  say;  he  had  no  wish 
to  put  his  wife  into  a  state  of  antagonism  towards  him. 
"  Well,  you've  cornered  me,"  he  said.  But  the  facts  of 
the  case  are  these,  and  I  hope  you'll  accept  them  and 


322  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

act  on  them.  When  we  made  the  change  I  didn't  quite 
know  what  I  wanted.  I  suppose  I  was  ready  to  take  up 
a  bigger  position  in  the  world  than  I  had  done  before, 
and  I  thought  I  could  do  it  by  buying  a  fine  country 
house  and  estate — the  finest  there  was  in  the  market.  I 
had  really  very  few  ideas  as  to  what  I  was  going  to  do 
with  it  all.  The  estate  was  to  be  a  sort  of  toy  to  me, 
and  the  house  to  you.  Neither  of  us  knew  anything  about 
life  in  the  country,  and  the  trouble  seems  to  me  to  be  that 
while  I've  learnt  a  good  deal  about  my  part,  you've  learnt 
very  little  about  yours." 

"  I  wish  you  would  say  what  you  have  to  say  without 
making  unkind  speeches,  Armitage.  I  am  willing  to  fall 
in  with  your  views  when  you  have  explained  them,  but 
I  am  not  willing  to  accept  blame  for  having  misunderstood 
you.  You  have  already  admitted  that  your  views  have 
changed  since  we  came  here." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  unkind,  my  dear,  but  I  think  you 
knew  quite  well  that  I  should  object  to  what  you  were 
going  to  do,  and  I  am  trying  to  make  you  see  that  you 
have  been  going  on  the  wrong  tack,  and  to  agree  with  me 
about  it.  What  has  become  plain  to  me  since  we  have 
been  living  here  is  that  you  are  much  more  mixed  up  with 
your  neighbours  in  the  country,  rich  and  poor,  than  you 
are  in  London.  You  can't  leave  them  out  of  account,  and 
go  your  own  way.  I  very  soon  saw  that,  when  I  began 
to  get  to  work  with  estate  business.  It's  one  of  the  reasons 
why  everybody  is  up  in  arms  at  once  when  they  hear  of  a 
rich  man  like  me  buying  a  big  estate.  They  know  all  about 
that  side  of  it — people  like  the  Clintons,  I  mean;  even 
people  like  Meadshire,  who  make  so  many  mistakes  other- 
wise— and  they  think  that  people  like  us  don't  know.  Well, 
they're  right.  But  I  tumbled  to  it  pretty  quickly,  and  I 
believe  there's  very  little  feeling  left  against  me  on  that 


A  DIFFERENCE  OF  PRINCIPLE  323 

score.     I'm  doing  all  that  the  old-established  people  are 
doing,  and  more  besides." 

"  I  really  don't  see,  Armitage,  what  that  has  to  do  with 
what  we  are  talking  about.  You  mention  the  Clintons. 
How  are  they,  and  people  like  them,  who  live  about  here, 
different  from  the  people  I  want  to  ask  here?  We  have 
known  them  a  very  short  time.  Lord  and  Lady  Dawlish, 
and  one  or  two  others  I  had  meant  to  ask  next  month,  we 
have  known  for  years,  ever  since  we  first  went  abroad." 

"  They  are  different  because  they  are  our  neighbours. 
What  I  say  is  that  in  the  country  your  social  life  and 
even  your  business  is  based  upon  something  much  more 
like  friendship  than  it  is  in  London.  You  have  interests 
in  common  with  all  the  people  about  you.  You  meet  them 
in  a  more  intimate  way.  Well,  take  the  Clintons.  They 
call  on  us  and  they  ask  us  to  dine.  They  don't  give  us 
a  formal  dinner-party.  They  take  us  into  their  family. 
And  it  doesn't  end  there,  either.  The  young  people  make 
friends,  and  there's  coming  and  going  between  our  two 
houses.  That's  what  I  like  to  see.  And,  mind  you,  that's 
going  on  always.  We're  only  just  at  the  beginning  of 
it,  you  and  I.  When  Alfred  takes  the  reins  here  after  me, 
there's  that  tie,  and  others  like  it;  and  when  his  children 
come  they'll  be  friends  with  the  next  generation  at  Ken- 
cote.  It's  something  worth  thinking  about.  You  don't 
get  that  sort  of  thing  except  in  the  country.  You  cer- 
tainly don't  get  it  with  the  smart  people  who  come  to 
your  parties  in  London.  They  come  and  eat  your  food 
and  drink  your  wine,  and  think  they're  doing  you  a  favour. 
They  know  nothing  about  you,  and  you  know  nothing  about 
them." 

"  Why  did  you  say  just  now  that  I  did  not  understand, 
or  had  not  learnt,  what  you  have  just  been  saying?  I 
understand  it  very  well.  I  am  ready  to  entertain  our  coun- 


324  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

try  neighbours  as  well  as  they  have  ever  been  entertained, 
even  in  this  house,  where  a  great  deal  of  state  was  kept  up." 

"  I  should  think  if  you  were  to  make  inquiries  about 
the  entertainments  that  were  given  in  this  house  you 
would  find  that  they  didn't  depend  upon  state  at  all.  A 
certain  amount  of  state  was  natural  for  people  like  that, 
and  it  isn't  natural  for  people  like  us.  If  they  got  big 
parties  of  people  together  they  got  them  together  to  enjoy 
themselves,  not  for  the  sake  of  showing  off  their  state. 
I'm  quite  sure  that  the  shooting  parties  they  had  here 
weren't  like  that  ghastly  affair  of  ours  the  other  day." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  keep  harping  upon  that.  I  admit 
that  it  was  not  a  success.  But  that  was  largely  because 
there  was  no  man  to  organize  it." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you.  The  shooting  was  the  only 
thing  that  went  well,  thanks  to  Irving.  The  party  was 
a  failure  because  the  people  you  asked  to  it  weren't  your 
friends.  And  it  would  be  just  the  same  with  your  ball 
next  month,  if  I  were  to  consent  to  your  asking  people 
in  the  same  way." 

"  When  the  last  big  ball  was  given  here,  not  long  before 
Lord  Meadshire's  grandfather  died,  the  house  was  filled 
with  people  staying  here  for  it.  I  have  seen  a  printed 
list  of  the  guests." 

"  And  who  were  the  guests  ?  Every  one  of  them  rela- 
tions and  friends  of  the  family,  I've  not  the  smallest 
doubt.  It's  just  what  I'm  saying.  If  people  like  that 
were  to  give  a  big  ball  in  London  all  the  smart  crowd 
would  be  asked,  I  dare  say.  But  they  would  only  ask 
their  friends  to  a  ball  in  the  country.  Of  course  their 
friends  would  be  people  like  themselves,  and  I  dare  say 
their  names  would  make  a  fine  show  in  a  printed  list. 
Even  if  you  could  get  a  list  to  look  something  like  it,  it 
wouldn't  be  the  same  thing,  for  they  wouldn't  be  your 


A  DIFFERENCE  OF  PRINCIPLE  325 

friends.  And  I've  a  pretty  strong  suspicion,  too,  that  it 
wouldn't  look  like  the  same  thing  to  those  who  really 
knew.  The  people  who  would  go  to  them  wouldn't  come 
to  us.  Why  should  they?  They  don't  want  anything 
from  us.  Your  Dawlishes  and  people  like  that  do,  and 
that's  why  they  come.  And  we  want  something  from  them, 
or  we  shouldn't  ask  them." 

"What  do  we  want  from  them?" 

"  Their  names,  in  a  list.     I  can't  think  of  anything  else." 

"  Well,  Armitage,  I  think  you  are  unfair  to  me.  I  have 
listened  to  all  you  have  said,  and  tried  to  understand  your 
point  of  view.  I  do  understand  it  to  some  extent  and  am 
willing  to  obey  you  when  you  tell  me  exactly  what  it  is 
that  you  do  want.  But  it  is  very  unfair  to  accuse  me  of 
running  after  people  for  the  sake  of  their  names,  as  you 
express  it.  It  is  a  thing  I  have  never  done.  It  is  rather 
the  other  way  about.  People  have  run  after  me." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  if  you  want  the  plain  truth,  I  think 
you  have  deteriorated  in  that  respect  since  we  have  been 
at  Kemsale.  You  are  at  liberty  to  make  your  own  friends, 
of  course,  but  the  only  one  you  seem  to  have  made  here, 
out  of  all  the  nice  people  we  have  come  to  know,  is  a 
woman  I've  no  respect  for  at  all.  If  you're  not  a  snob 
by  nature — and  I  don't  think  you  are — she  is,  and  you 
have  acted  more  on  her  ideas  than  you  have  on  your  own." 

Her  face  grew  red  again.  "  I  can  hardly  be  said  to 
have  made  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Fuller,"  she  said.  "  She  has 
been  useful  to  me,  and  I  have  been  able  to  do  things  for 
her.  And  I  am  not  aware  of  having  acted  on  her  ideas." 

"  Well,  you  haven't  acted  as  you  did  before.  It  used  to 
amuse  me  rather  to  see  people  running  after  you.  It  doesn't 
amuse  me  at  all  to  see  you  running  after  them." 

"  I  do  not  run  after  people,  Armitage." 

"  I   call  it  running  after  them.     How  were  you  going 


326  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

to  ask  people  for  this  party?  Write  first  to  the  biggest 
of  them,  and  fill  up  the  places  of  those  that  refuse — 
don't  think  it  good  enough — by  the  next  biggest.  It  isn't 
good  enough  for  us,  my  dear.  We're  what  we  are.  Let's 
keep  our  self-respect,  and  ask  people  to  our  house  that 
will  come  because  they  like  us,  and  not  what  we  can 
give  them." 

She  thought  over  it  for  a  moment.  Underneath  the 
chagrin  she  felt  at  having  desires  that  she  had  scarcely 
formulated  dragged  out  and  shown  up  to  her,  there  was 
a  sense  of  relief  at  being  free  of  a  burden.  To  arrange 
her  programme  for  people  who  would  thoroughly  appre- 
ciate it,  and  give  her  no  trouble  at  all  by  their  presence, 
and  let  the  others  go  by,  was  a  large  relief.  And  she 
began  to  have  a  glimmering  of  what  lay  at  the  back  of 
her  husband's  mind,  and  to  see  that  he  was  right.  Her 
parties  at  Kemsale  could  be  as  frequent  and  as  elaborate 
as  she  pleased,  but  they  must  have  a  different  basis  from 
her  parties  in  London.  They  must  draw  chiefly  from 
the  people  around,  and  there  was,  after  all,  a  large  field 
to  draw  from.  They  could  not  be  as  "  select "  as  her 
London  parties,  but  they  would  be  enjoyed  much  more, 
and  credit  would  accrue  to  her  from  one  form  of  enter- 
tainment as  much  as  from  the  other. 

"  Well,  I  will  tear  up  the  invitations  I  have  written," 
she  said,  "  except  to  one  or  two  of  Katie's  friends." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  tear  up  any  to  Katie's  friends." 

"I  am  thinking  of  people  whom  we  have  known  at  the 
villa.  Katie  has  made  friends  amongst  the  people  you 
so  much  object  to." 

"  I  don't  object  to  them  any  more  than  to  any  other 
set  of  people.  If  you  had  made  friends  amongst  them 
you'd  have  been  at  liberty  to  ask  them  here.  Don't  let 
us  spar  about  it.  I  think  we  understand  one  anoth°r; 


A  DIFFERENCE  OF  PRINCIPLE  327 

and  if  you  will  think  it  over  you  will  see  that  I  am  right. 
Now  about  these  parties.  You  will  look  after  everything 
indoors,  of  course.  The  young  people  ought  to  have  a 
royal  time;  and  their  elders  too.  The  "men  can  shoot, 
those  of  them  who  want  to,  and  we  had  better  get  over  a 
few  neighbours  as  well — older  men,  who  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  shoot  here.  I  don't  know  anything  about  it, 
and  it  doesn't  interest  me,  except  to  go  out  and  look  on 
occasionally.  And  Alfred  doesn't  seem  to  care  for  it  either. 
I  propose  to  put  all  the  arrangements  into  Irving's  hands. 
He  got  us  out  of  a  hole  last  time,  and  I  dare  say  he'll 
like  doing  it.  He  has  done  it  for  three  years,  and  paid 
for  it,  or  his  friends  have — I  don't  know.  Anyhow,  he'll 
get  just  as  much  fun  out  of  it  as  he  did  before." 

"  Before  you  do  that,  Armitage,  I  wish  you  would  talk 
to  Alfred  and  see  if  you  can't  induce  him  to  take  all  that 
up  as  a  duty.  It  seems  to  me  humiliating  that  we  should 
have  to  call  in  an  outsider  to  do  what  the  men  of  the 
house  ought  to  do.  If  you  do  not  care  to  make  those 
arrangements,  Alfred  ought  to.  He  does  shoot,  and  it 
can't  be  very  difficult  to  learn  what  there  is  to  learn. 
Let  Captain  Irving  help  him,  if  you  like;  but  don't  put 
everything  into  his  hands,  as  if  he  were  master  here." 

"  There's  something  in  that.  I'll  talk  to  Alfred.  I 
should  like  him  to  take  an  interest  in  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  He's  not  too  old,  as  I  am.  And  goodness  knows, 
he  has  little  enough  to  do;  he  doesn't  do  the  work  that 
he  professes  to  be  doing.  I've  not  said  anything  about 
that,  because  my  ideas  have  changed  somewhat  since  we 
came  here.  It  seems  to  me  now  that  there  is  plenty  for 
Alfred  to  do  here,  if  he'll  do  it.  Captain  Clinton  keeps 
pretty  busy  looking  after  property  that  will  be  his  some 
day;  and  this  will  be  Alfred's  in  the  same  way.  He 
didn't  take  to  my  business  in  London,  and  didn't  much 


328  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

mind.  But  there's  a  great  deal  of  business  to  be  done 
here  that  I  shall  be  disappointed  if  he  doesn't  take  to.  I 
don't  want  him  to  grow  into  a  slacker.  We  have  an 
example  of  that  before  our  eyes,  and  it's  one  that  ought 
to  make  him  careful." 

"  I  am  very  disappointed  in  Alfred.  I  thought  at  first 
that  he  would  take  an  interest  in  the  place.  But  lately 
he  has  done  nothing  but  moon  about;  and  if  there  is  any- 
thing that's  wanted  of  him  he  runs  away." 

"  Well,  I  don't  blame  him  for  running  away  from  what 
he  did.  But  now  we  have  settled  that  that  is  not  to  happen 
again,  he  ought  to  play  his  part.  I  haven't  worried  him 
about  it  yet,  because  I  thought  he  had  better  get  used  to 
the  idea  of  living  here  first.  He  has  got  used  to  it,  I 
think.  He  has  been  a  great  deal  more  at  home  this  year 
than  he  ever  was  before." 

"  I  can't  make  him  out.  He  seems  to  have  changed. 
I  was  prepared  to  take  an  interest  in  the  garden  with  him, 
as  that  was  what  he  began  with.  But  he  takes  an  interest 
in  it  no  longer.  He  takes  an  interest  in  nothing  to  do 
with  the  place.  He  even  told  me  the  other  day  that  he 
hated  the  house  as  it  is  now.  He  and  Katie  are  always 
going  off  to  the  Herons'  Nest.  I  suppose  Lord  Mead- 
shire  and  Lady  Grace  have  put  ideas  into  their  heads.  It 
is  a  great  nuisance.  I  wish  they  were  out  of  the  place 
altogether." 

Armitage  Brown  did  not  take  this  up.  He  was  thought- 
ful for  a  moment.  "  Well,  I'll  have  a  good  talk  with 
Alfred,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
FATHER  AND  SON 

IRENE  FULLER  came  down  to  breakfast  twenty  minutes  late, 
in  motor-cap  and  coat.  Her  mother,  who  had  been  only 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  late,  exclaimed  in  vexation.  "  Surely 
you're  not  proposing  to  go  trapesing  off  for  the  day  when 
there's  everything  to  be  settled  this  morning  up  at  the 
house,"  she  said. 

"  It's  a  fine  day,"  said  Irene  carelessly,  "  and  I  thought 
I  should  like  to  go  with  father.  They  won't  want  me  up 
at  the  house." 

"  You  can  make  yourself  very  useful  there.  I  told  Mrs. 
Brown  particularly  that  I  should  like  to  bring  you.  I 
take  all  the  trouble  I  can  to  get  you  in  to  things,  and 
you  haven't  got  the  sense  to  lift  a  little  finger  for  your- 
self, even  when  everything's  made  easy  for  you.  There's 
that  Anne  Sheard  in  and  out  of  the  house  as  if  it  belonged 
to  her,  and  you  might  be  the  same  if  you'd  just  exert  your- 
self a  little.  As  it  is  you're  just  like  a  stranger  there." 

"  They  don't  care  for  me  and  I  don't  care  for  them,"  said 
the  girl.  "  What  good  should  I  be  to  help  settle  things  ?  " 

"  Really,  you'd  try  the  patience  of  a  saint.  There  are 
the  parts  in  the  tableaux  to  be  finally  settled,  and  the 
costumes.  If  you're  there,  you'll  get  the  good  parts  yon 
ought  to  get.  If  you're  not,  I've  got  to  do  it  all  for  you, 
and  I'm  not  going  to.  It  looks  as  if  I  was  always  trying 
to  shove  you  in." 

"  Well,  that's  what  you  always  are  trying  to  do,  isn't  it?  " 

"When  you've  had  breakfast,  you'll  just  go  and  dress 


330  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

yourself  properly  and  wait  till  it's  time  to  come  with  me. 
I've  had  enough  of  it.  You're  always  wanting  to  go  off 
with  your  father  now,  and  you  never  used  to  before.  What 
you've  got  in  your  head  I  don't  know.  But  you've  got  to 
drop  it  and  do  what  you're  told.  I'm  sick  of  you  and 
your  ways.  All  the  young  people  in  the  house  will  be 
there  this  morning,  and  Alfred  will  be  making  his  final 
arrangements.  I'm  not  going  to  have  you  out  of  it.  If 
you  don't  know  where  your  bread's  buttered,  I  do." 

"  Alfred  won't  be  there  this  morning,"  said  Herbert 
Fuller.  "  He  is  coming  with  his  father  to  meet  us  at 
Points.  I  wish  you'd  told  me  you  wanted  to  come  last 
night,  Irene.  I  said  I'd  take  William  Sheard." 

"  Oh,  if  it's  only  William  Sheard,"  said  Mrs.  Fuller, 
"he  can  sit  up  behind,  as  he's  done  before;  good  enough 
for  him  too.  The  way  those  Sheards  poke  themselves  in 
everywhere — well,  I  should  be  ashamed  to  do  it  in  that 
bare-faced  way.  I  wonder  why  Alfred  has  changed  his 
mind.  I  quite  understood  that  there  was  to  be  a  meeting 
to  decide  things  this  morning  at  half-past  ten.  He  doesn't 
seem  to  be  taking  the  interest  in  the  tableaux  that  Mrs. 
Brown  hoped  he  would.  Did  you  tell  him  that  you  were 
going  to  Points  this  morning,  Irene  ?  " 

"  No.     I  haven't  seen  him  for  nearly  a  week." 

"  Well,  you  can  go  this  time;  but  next  time  you'll  please 
ask  my  leave  beforehand.  You  seem  to  think  you  can 
do  exactly  what  you  like.  Now  mind  you  talk  to  Alfred 
about  the  tableaux.  Make  some  suggestions,  and  show  an 
interest  in  them.  See  that  you  get  some  good  parts. 
For  goodness'  sake  try  and  do  something  for  yourself,  and 
don't  leave  it  all  to  me." 

"  I  shall  be  starting  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  said  Fuller, 
rising  from  the  table,  "  with  you  or  without  you,  Irene." 

Herbert  Fuller  was  a  busy  happy  little  man  in  these 


FATHER  AND  SON  331 

days.  The  alterations  that  he  had  made  in  his  house  during 
the  summer  pleased  him  greatly,  and  fortunately  they  also 
pleased  his  wife,  who  had  now  resigned  herself  to  a  per- 
manent occupation  of  Barton's  Farm.  Armitage  Brown, 
always  intent  upon  time-saving,  had  bought  him  a  two- 
seated  car  for  estate  work,  which  he.  drove  himself.  It 
had  been  one  of  his  ambitions  to  have  a  little  car,  but  his 
wife's  expenditure  had  hitherto  stood  in  the  way. 

William  Sheard  made  his  appearance  just  before  the 
time  appointed,  and  hung  about  in  front  of  the  house,  much 
to  Mrs.  Fuller's  annoyance,  who,  however,  did  not  ask 
him  in.  She  hated  all  the  Sheards,  and  usually  referred 
to  William  as  "  the  hobbledehoy."  But  Wilb'am's  appear- 
ance had  quite  altered  since  he  had  first  come  to  Kemsale, 
and  his  outlook  too.  Armitage  Brown  had  suggested  that 
he  should  be  taken  into  the  estate  office.  He  had  paid 
Fuller  a  premium  to  teach  him  his  work,  on  the  under- 
standing that  the  Sheards  were  not  to  know  of  it.  An 
outlook  almost  too  rosy  for  belief  was  in  front  of  the 
boy:  in  the  foreground  a  life  for  which  he  was  emi- 
nently suited,  to  be  lived  entirely  in  the  country,  which 
he  was  getting  to  love  more  and  more,  and  in  the  distance 
the  practical  certainty  of  succeeding  to  the  Kemsale  agency, 
if  he  showed  himself  competent.  He  was  showing  himself 
exceedingly  competent;  Fuller  had  never  had  a  pupil  or 
an  assistant  so  keen  and  immersed  in  his  work.  Every  bit 
of  it  was  a  delight  to  him;  he  could  think  and  talk  about 
scarcely  anything  else.  As  he  waited  on  the  gravel,  an 
offence  to  Mrs.  Fuller's  eyes,  even  she  could  hardly  find 
her  excuse  in  his  appearance.  He  was  dressed  in  rough 
brown  tweeds,  very  different  from  his  shabby  school  clothes, 
and  if  he  did  look  like  a  farmer's  son,  as  she  remarked 
disgustedly  to  Irene,  he  looked  like  a  very  contented  and 
prosperous  one. 


332  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

He  did  not  mind  at  all  sitting  up  on  the  little  perch 
behind,  and  told  Irene  that  he  was  glad  she  was  coming 
with  them,  in  a  way  with  which  even  Mrs.  Fuller  could 
have  found  no  fault.  He  had  dropped  some  of  his  shyness 
and  awkwardness;  he  had  found  his  niche  in  the  world 
and  was  gaining  confidence  in  himself  and  his  abilities 
every  day.  He  leaned  over  the  back  of  the  car  as  they  ran 
along  the  muddy  roads,  and  talked  to  Fuller  about  the 
land  they  were  passing  through  and  about  the  work  there 
was  in  hand  that  morning,  and  Fuller  treated  him  as  an 
equal,  and  sometimes  deferred  to  his  opinion.  Irene  sat 
silent  for  the  most  part,  but  showed  some  interest  when 
they  talked  about  the  dairying. 

They  arrived  at  Points  Farm  rather  before  the  time  at 
which  Armitage  Brown  had  appointed  to  meet  them  there. 
They  did  not  go  to  the  house,  but  stopped  opposite  to 
where  the  new  buildings  were  now  all  ready  for  the  work 
in  which  Points  Farm  was  to  lead  the  way. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Davis  and  their  son  were  waiting  for 
them  at  the  gate.  Mrs.  Davis  had  lost  some  of  her  air  of 
melancholy ;  she  was  now  as  interested  and  as  optimistic 
about  the  project  as  anybody.  She  gave  Irene  a  warm 
greeting.  "  Well,  now,  this  is  a  pleasant  surprise,  my 
dear,"  she  said.  "  Will  you  come  into  the  house  and 
take  a  little  refreshment,  or  would  you  like  to  wait  and 
go  round  the  buildings  with  the  rest  of  us  ?  " 

Irene  said  she  would  go  round  the  buildings.  She  was 
a  different  girl  from  the  one  who  mooned  about  at  home, 
taking  no  interest  in  anything,  as  her  mother  so  often  told 
her.  She  even  wanted  to  begin  the  inspection  at  once, 
and  John  Davis  took  her  off  for  a  preliminary  view  with- 
out waiting  for  the  rest.  The  two  of  them  seemed  to  have 
plenty  to  say  to  one  another,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact 
Irene  had  been  to  Points  Farm  with  her  father  several 


FATHER  AND  SOX  333 

times  of  late,  and  scarcely  needed  showing  what  had  been 
done. 

William  Sheard  found  himself  talking  to  old  Mr.  Davis, 
who  had  taken  a  fancy  to  him. 

"  It's  a  fine  thing  to  make  your  living  out  of  the  land, 
and  to  live  on  the  land,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Times  are 
changing  all  round  us,  but  the  land  must  always  go  on. 
If  you  study  it  diligently  it  won't  fail  you.  You  may  not 
make  so  much  money  as  in  other  pursuits,  but  you  live 
the  best  sort  of  life.  You  are  fortunate  to  get  your  chance, 
and  I  think  you  will  do  well  with  it." 

"  I  shall  try  my  best,  Mr.  Davis,"  said  the  boy.  "  It's 
the  one  thing  I  really  like,  and  feel  fitted  for.  It's  Mr. 
Brown  who  has  given  me  my  chance,  and  I  feel  very 
grateful  to  him." 

"  Mr.  Brown  is  a  good-hearted  man,"  said  the  old  farmer, 
"  and  I  believe  a  far-seeing  one.  I  am  not  yet  convinced 
that  all  his  ideas  are  right,  but  my  son  is  quite  sure  that 
we  shall  all  do  well  to  follow  him,  and  I  am  ready  to  fall 
in,  for  the  few  years  longer  that  I  have  before  me.  The 
old  people  are  gone,  or  going,  and  those  of  them  that  are 
left  must  try  and  keep  step  with  the  new  ones." 

Armitage  Brown's  car  came  up  at  that  moment  and 
he  and  Alfred  alighted  from  it.  Alfred  looked  a  shade 
dispirited,  but  cheered  up  as  the  little  party  came  together, 
and  showed  more  interest  in  the  subject  in  hand  than 
might  have  been  expected  of  him. 

The  inspection  did  not  take  long.  The  chief  object  of 
Armitage  Brown's  visit  to  this  part  of  his  estate  was  the 
farm  that  was  being  cut  up  into  small  holdings,  and  the 
buildings  that  were  being  adapted  or  newly  erected  on  it. 
When  a  move  was  made  away  from  Points  Farm,  Irene 
elected  to  stay  behind  and  talk  to  Mrs.  Davis.  Her  father 
was  to  pick  her  up  on  his  way  back.  Mrs.  Fuller  would 


334,  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

not  have  been  pleased  if  she  had  known  that  her  inter- 
course with  Alfred  had  been  confined  to  a  few  words  of 
greeting  and  farewell. 

The  expedition  ended  with  a  visit  to  the  new  factory, 
now  nearly  completed.  Alfred  and  his  father  went  on  to 
Kencote,  where  they  were  to  lunch.  As  they  shut  them- 
selves in  at  the  back  of  the  car,  out  of  hearing  of  the 
chauffeur,  Armitage  Brown  began  at  once:  "  Now  there  it 
is,  Alfred.  You've  seen  it  all,  and  heard  a  great  deal  about 
it.  It's  all  interesting  enough,  but  as  far  as  I'm  concerned 
I  want  to  go  on  to  the  next  thing,  now  I've  once  put  it  in 
hand.  Can't  you  make  up  your  mind  to  take  it  up?  " 

Some  suggestion  of  that  sort  made  on  the  way  out  had 
induced  that  air  of  depression  in  which  Alfred  had  reached 
Points  Farm.  "  I  really  can't  see  that  it's  in  the  least  in 
my  line,  father,"  he  said  plaintively.  "  It's  all  business, 
you  know,  just  as  it  was  in  Lombard  Street,  and  I  thought 
we  had  agreed  that  I  am  not  cut  out  for  business." 

"  I  don't  mean  that  you  should  take  it  as  business,  except 
to  get  a  general  idea  of  the  financial  side.  It's  using  the 
land  to  the  best  advantage,  and  settling  as  many  people 
as  possible  on  to  it  that  is  the  chief  thing  in  this  scheme. 
It  isn't  money-making — at  least  not  for  us.  Just  a  fair 
return ;  that's  all  I  want  from  it." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  I  was  interested 
in  the  new  cottages — rather  wished  I'd  had  a  hand  In 
designing  them.  I  think  I  could  have  made  one  or  two 
improvements." 

His  father  turned  to  him  eagerly.  "  Now  that's  exactly 
the  sort  of  interest  I  want  you  to  take,"  he  said.  "  You've 
shown  so  little,  that  it  never  occurred  to  me  to  talk  to  you 
about  that  particular  detail.  Look  here,  my  boy;  let's 
have  it  straight  out,  you  and  I.  I've  made  the  money; 
there's  no  necessity  for  you  to  make  any  more.  But  you've 


FATHER  AND  SON  335 

got  to  use  what  I've  made,  you  know,  sooner  or  later.  Most 
of  it  will  come  to  you.  And  this  place  will  come  to  you. 
Whatever  I  do  here,  if  I  live  another  thirty  years,  I  shall 
just  be  the  rich  stranger,  who  knows  nothing  about  it  all. 
They'll  say  that  of  me,  if  I  coin  gold  out  of  the  land.  I 
shan't  belong.  But  with  you  it's  different.  It's  different 
already.  They'll  make  friends  with  you  in  a  different  sort 
of  way  to  what  they  will  with  me.  In  a  few  years  you'll 
be  one  of  them.  That's  what  I  want  you  to  see,  and  to 
play  up  to." 

One  would  have  thought  by  his  face  of  misery  that  the 
young  man  was  being  told  that  expectations  of  wealth 
were  to  be  disappointed,  instead  of  being  begged  to  take 
advantage  of  them. 

"  Surely  it's  not  so  very  difficult,"  his  father  said  with 
a  touch  of  impatience.  "  You've  got  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful homes  in  England.  I'm  just  asking  you  to  take  an 
interest  in  it.  I  bought  it  partly  for  you." 

"  You  never  told  me  so.    I  didn't  have  much  to  say  in  it." 

"  You  might  have  had  all  the  say  you  wanted.  What's 
wrong  with  the  place,  Alfred?  What's  wrong  with  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  there's  anything  wrong  with  me, 
except  that  I'm  the  son  of  a  rich  man.  I  don't  seem  to 
have  been  cut  out  for  it." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  think  you're  cut  out  for  the 
son  of  a  poor  man.  I  don't.  You've  done  exactly  what  you 
liked;  you've  stuck  to  no  work.  You  haven't  spent  a  great 
deal  of  money,  it's  true,  but  you've  had  all  that  money 
could  buy  you  in  your  home,  and  you've  lived  just  as  it 
suited  you  outside  of  it.  A  poor  man's  son  couldn't  have 
done  what  you  have." 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  rather  a  useless  sort  of  fellow,  father; 
but  I  can't  help  thinking  that,  if  I  hadn't  had  any  money 
at  all  behind  me,  I  could  have  made  enough  to  live  pretty 


336  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

much  as  I  have — except,  of  course,  when  I've  been  at 
home." 

"Yes,  and  for  how  long?  It's  been  all  very  well  so 
far.  But  you're  getting  on  now.  You're  twenty-six.  You 
might  have  wanted  to  marry  before  this;  I  hope  it  won't 
be  long  before  you  do  marry.  You  couldn't  offer  a  wife 
the  sort  of  life  you've  been  living  abroad,  even  if  you'd 
made  it  pay  for  itself,  which  you  haven't.  I've  never 
bothered  you  about  all  that  wandering  of  yours,  but  of 
course  it  has  been  a  great  disappointment  to  me.  I  always 
wanted  you  to  do  something.  I  didn't  care  what  it  was ; 
but  so  far  you've  only  enjoyed  yourself." 

Alfred  sighed.  "  I  suppose  I've  enjoyed  myself  more 
than  most  fellows,"  he  said.  "  I've  got  that  to  look  back 
upon;  and  you've  been  very  good  about  it,  father.  If 
you  want  me  to  settle  down  now,  I  owe  it  to  you  to  do 
what  you  want." 

Armitage  Brown  felt  baffled.  "  I  wonder  if  there's  any 
other  young  man  in  the  world  who  looks  at  things  in  the 
way  you  do,"  he  said  with  an  affectionate  but  irritated 
smile.  "What  am  I  asking  you  to  do?  Any  one  would 
think  I  wanted  you  to  shut  yourself  up  in  a  prison.  You 
can  go  abroad  whenever  you  want  to,  as  long  as  you  don't 
stay  away  too  long.  You  needn't  go  in  for  London  society, 
if  you  don't  care  about  it;  I'm  glad  you  don't;  I  shouldn't 
have  left  you  so  free  as  I  have  if  you'd  been  a  young  man 
about  town,  or  a  loafer,  as  I  prefer  to  call  it.  I  quite 
thought  you  had  taken  to  country  life  at  one  time." 

"  So  I  have  to  some  extent.  I've  been  here  at  Kemsale 
more  often  and  for  longer  than  I've  stayed  in  any  place 
in  England  since  you  let  me  off  Lombard  Street." 

"Well?" 

"  The  place  is  too  big,  too  rich.  It  oppresses  me. 
We  don't  seem  to  belong  to  it.  It  fitted  the  people  who 


FATHER  AND  SON  337 

were  here  before;  it  doesn't  seem  to  fit  us.  Ail  the  time 
we're  trying  to  live  up  to  something,  something  we  don't 
understand." 

"  There's  something  in  that,  Alfred.  I'd  no  idea  of  it 
before  I  came  here.  I  suppose  you  saw  it  all  along,  and 
that's  why  you  took  no  interest  in  it  when  we  first  talked 
it  over." 

"  It  may  seem  odd,  but  I  never  thought  of  it  as  a  place 
that  had  anything  to  do  with  me  at  all.  I  certainly  never 
thought  of  it  as  a  place  that  would  be  mine  some  day,  as 
you  say  it  will." 

"  A  father  has  no  right  to  grumble  at  that,  my  boy. 
And  I  hope  it  will  be  a  good  many  years  yet  before  you 
have  to  take  it  over  from  me." 

"  So  many  years  that  one  needn't  think  about  it  at  all, 
need  one?  " 

There  was  silence  for  a  time.  Then  Armitage  Brown 
said:  "These  people  we're  going  to — the  Clintons. 
There's  the  old  man,  bred  up  to  it  all.  They  say  he's 
hardly  left  Kencote  since  he  inherited  it  from  his  grand- 
father. And  there's  his  eldest  son.  From  what  I  hear 
he  has  been  about  a  great  deal  more  than  his  father; 
but  now  he  has  settled  down  there  too.  You  might  say 
that  the  old  man  was  the  narrow-minded  country  squire 
that  one  reads  and  hears  about,  though  he  has  his  points 
too,  and  he's  not  a  man  to  be  despised.  But  his  son  is 
different.  He's  a  man  of  brains,  of  a  sort.  He  could 
never  have  done  what  I  have;  very  few  men  could.  But 
if  he'd  been  born  to  a  big  position  in  the  financial  world 
— the  son  of  a  big  banker,  or  something  of  that  sort — 
he'd  have  made  good.  He'd  have  carried  on.  And  he's 
seen  the  world.  Yet  there  he  is,  quite  happy  in  living 
the  best  part  of  his  time  here  in  the  country,  and  looking 
after  his  father's  interests,  that  will  be  his  by  and  by." 


338  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  Isn't  that  because  he  was  born  to  it?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,  partly.  But  it's  a  lot  that  most  young 
men  wouldn't  ask  to  be  born  to,  if  they  had  it  offered  to 
them  young  enough.  I  shouldn't.  It's  too  late  for  me 
now  to  change  my  interests  altogether.  I  want  to  be 
doing  bigger  things  than  I  could  do  here.  But  I  think 
if  I  were  to  be  offered  my  life  again,  beginning  at  your 
age,  I  should  choose  your  chance  rather  than  my  own. 
I  can  never  be  a  satisfactory  squire  of  Kemsale,  as  old 
Mr.  Clinton  is  of  Kencote.  But  you  can.  And  Kemsale 
wants  its  squire.  I've  come  to  see  that." 

Alfred  laughed.  "Fancy  me  a  squire!  "  he  said.  "  And 
as  for  that,  father,  I  think  you  have  turned  yourself  into 
a  squire  in  a  thousand.  You're  not  cut  after  the  pattern 
of  Mr.  Clinton,  of  course ;  but  you  bring  a  new  mind  to 
it,  and  a  mind  that's  able  to  take  up  anything  that  it  sets 
itself  to.  If  I  tried  to  follow  you,  it  would  be  just 
Lombard  Street  all  over  again.  I  haven't  got  it  in  me." 

"  Haven't  you  got  it  in  you  to  do  something  or  other 
with  your  father,  Alfred?  I've  done  everything  alone, 
all  my  life." 

Alfred  was  touched.  The  words,  and  the  tone  in  which 
they  had  been  spoken,  revealed  something  in  his  father 
that  he  had  not  suspected  hitherto. 

"  Do  you  feel  like  that  about  Kemsale?  "  he  asked. 

"  I'll  tell  you  exactly  what  I  feel  about  Kemsale.  It's 
a  much  bigger  thing  than  I  thought  it  was  when  I  bought 
it.  When  I  was  making  my  plans  about  running  the 
estate,  not  to  pay  handsomely,  but  to  pay  as  a  business 
proposition,  I  was  constantly  getting  little  warnings  that 
it  couldn't  be  treated  just  as  any  other  business  proposi- 
tion. I  was  impatient  of  them.  I  thought  it  was  all 
old-fashioned  feudalism,  that  a  go-ahead  modern  man  would 
just  get  rid  of.  Now  I  look  upon  it  differently.  The 


FATHER  AND  SON  S39 

feudalism  can  be  overdone.  It  was  here.  It's  good  neither 
for  landlord  nor  tenants  that  one  man  should  be  looked 
up  to  as  of  different  clay  from  all  the  rest,  or  so  it  seems 
to  me.  The  way  I  look  at  it  is  that  they  ought  to  be  all 
in  together,  with  the  landowner  as  the  guiding  spirit. 
Perhaps  they  would  say — the  old  people — that  that  was 
their  way.  Well,  according  to  their  lights  they  act  up  to 
it,  the  best  of  them.  They  know  their  people  and  they 
are  ready  to  help  them  in  all  sorts  of  ways.  It  isn't 
like  a  big  business  in  London  where  you've  got  hundreds 
of  people  dependent  on  you,  but  know  no  more  about 
most  of  them  than  if  they  were  strangers.  That's  the 
side  of  it  I  should  like  to  see  you  take  up.  You're  fitted 
for  it.  You  can  make  friends;  people  like  you.  They 
like  you  already,  the  people  here,  and  little  Katie  too; 
she's  doing  just  what  she  ought  to  do,  and  no  old-fashioned 
squire's  daughter  of  them  all  could  do  it  any  better.  The 
people  look  on  you  and  her  in  a  different  way  from  what 
they  look  upon  me;  I  can  see  that.  If  you  ask  me  what 
I  want  you  to  do,  I  want  you  to  live  in  the  place — make 
your  home  in  it." 

"  It  isn't  much  to  ask  of  me,  I'll  admit,"  said  Alfred. 
"  It's  what  I  have  done  for  the  greater  part  of  the  past 
year." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  want  a  little  more  than  that.  I  want 
to  be  able  to  talk  to  you  about  what  I  do  myself  here, 
when  I  come  down.  I  shan't  be  here  quite  so  much  after 
Christmas.  There's  a  big  affair  on  that  will  occupy  most 
of  my  time  for  some  months  to  come.  I  don't-  find  that 
this  place  gives  me  enough  scope.  I've  been  very  inter- 
ested in  this  dairying  business,  and  I  think  it  will  turn 
out  all  right.  But  to  tell  you  the  truth,  it  was  a  lucky 
chance,  to  begin  with.  I  might  have  tnken  up  somr  other 
scheme  that  wouldn't  have  had  so  much  promise.  I  didn't 


340  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

know  enough.  I  shall  go  slower  in  the  future,  do  what 
I  can  to  get  the  place  up  gradually,  working  a  good  deal 
more  on  the  old  lines,  unless  I  see  a  brilliant  opening.  I 
want  to  come  down  here  and  have  things  to  interest  me, 
but  not  work  at  in  a  big  way.  It's  to  be  my  recreation. 
But  I  should  like  it  to  be  much  more  than  that  to  you." 

"If  it  is  to  take  an  interest  in  the  people,  father,  I 
think  I  can  do  that;  and  as  for  model  cottages  and  that 
sort  of  improvement,  if  you  want  it,  I  could  take  an 
interest  in  that  too." 

"  Well,  think  it  over,  Alfred.  Do  what  you  like  in  the 
place,  but  let  us  talk  over  what  you  do  together.  I  shall 
enjoy  the  place  more  than  I  do  now,  if  I  can  feel  that 
I'm  helping  you  to  make  what  you'd  like  to  make  out  of 
it.  I'm  not  bad  at  putting  ideas  into  shape,  you  know. 
It's  what  I've  been  used  to." 

Alfred  laughed  at  him.  "  Dear  old  dad !  "  he  said. 
"  You're  a  perfect  marvel.  I  wish  I  had  it  in  me  to  do 
you  more  credit.  But  I'll  do  my  best,  now  I  know  what 
you  want." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
THE  PICTURES 

DOUGLAS  IRVING  was  in  luck  again.  His  friend  Bradgate 
told  him  so,  and  his  friend  Wesbrook  endorsed  the  state- 
ment, as  they  sat  in  Douglas's  room  after  the  first  day's 
shoot,  in  that  blissful  sportsman's  hour  between  tea  and 
dinner,  when  easy-chairs  seem  easier  than  at  other  times, 
firelight  brighter,  and  tobacco  sweeter. 

"You  always  do  fall  on  your  feet,  Duggy,"  said  Brad- 
gate.  "  From  all  I  can  see,  the  millionaire  has  taken  you 
to  his  bosom,  and  as  for  the  shooting,  you  have  as  much 
to  do  with  it  as  you've  had  for  the  last  three  years." 

William  and  Mrs.  Bradgate,  Charles  Wesbrook,  and 
some  young  cousins  of  Beatrix's,  now  amusing  themselves 
in  the  drawing-room,  had  come  down  the  day  before  for 
the  Meadshire  festivities.  They  had  attended  the  South 
Meadshire  Hunt  Ball  at  Bathgate  the  night  before;  they 
had  shot  to-day  and  were  all  to  dine  at  Kemsale  presently 
and  view  the  tableaux  afterwards.  On  the  morrow  there 
was  to  be  a  lawn  meet  at  Kencote,  and  in  the  evening 
the  Bathgate  ball.  On  the  day  after  they  were  to  shoot 
again,  and  the  proceedings  would  end  with  the  ball  at 
Kemsale. 

"  Armitage  Brown  wanted  me  to  take  over  the  whole 
management  of  the  shooting  a  month  ago,"  said  Douglas. 
"  I  was  to  have  the  big  days  when  I  wanted  to,  and  ask 
who  I  liked.  He  didn't  care  about  it  himself  and  he 
didn't  suppose  his  son  would." 

841 


342  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  His  son  seems  to  have  bucked  up  about  it,"  said 
Wesbrook.  "  He's  a  nice  fellow  that,  and  makes  an  ex- 
cellent shooting  host,  though  he  doesn't  know  much  about 
the  game." 

"  I  told  Brown  that  Alfred  ought  to  look  after  it.  It 
wouldn't  look  well  for  me  to  take  it  on,  and  ask  people 
just  as  if  it  were  my  own.  I  said  I'd  do  all  I  could  to 
help  him,  and  it's  turned  out  very  well.  I  don't  think 
he'll  ever  shoot  for  nuts,  he's  not  keen  enough  on  it; 
but  he's  trying  to  be  a  good  boy  and  please  his  papa. 
I'm  glad  you  thought  he  did  well  to-day,  Charles.  We 
all  like  him  here.  He's  different  from  other  fellows;  but 
he's  one  of  the  best." 

"  I  suppose  papa  wants  him  to  take  his  place  as  a  future 
county  magnate/'  said  Bradgate.  "It's  not  a  bad  sort  of 
billet,  either.  Mr.  Armitage  Brown  shows  up  rather  well 
as  a  country  gentleman,  Douglas.  We  had  a  little  con- 
versation together  to-day,  and  got  on  very  well.  Nobody 
would  have  thought  that  either  of  us  had  ever  heard  of 
the  City.  I  should  have  liked  to  ask  him  one  or  two 
questions — seemed  sort  of  queer  to  be  talking  to  a  man 
like  that  and  not  extracting  a  bit  out  of  him.  He  seems 
to  think  a  lot  of  you,  by  the  by.  Have  you  ever  got 
him  to  talk  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  tried.  I've  left  it  to  him.  He  did  say 
something  the  other  day  about  having  something  on  that 
would  keep  him  pretty  busy  in  London  for  the  next  few 
months." 

"  By  Jove,  that's  interesting.  Can't  you  get  early  in- 
formation? It  might  be  worth  a  lot  to  you." 

"  I  asked  him  if  he  couldn't  put  me  into  it.  He  laughed 
and  said  he  didn't  know  I  wanted  money.  He  thought  I 
was  one  of  those  fellows  who  had  everything  he  could 
want." 


THE  PICTURES  343 

"  You're  on  those  terms  with  him,  are  you?  What  did 
you  say  ?  " 

"  I  said  that  most  of  us  could  do  with  a  bit  more.  I 
said:  '  You'll  do  me  the  justice  to  observe  that  I've  never 
mentioned  the  word  money  to  you,  but  naturally  when 
one's  in  your  company,  one  can't  help  thinking  about  it 
sometimes,  and  if  there's  anything  good  going  you  might 
let  your  friends  have  first  chance ! ' ' 

"  Capital,  Duggy !  You're  quite  a  diplomatist.  That's 
the  way  to  treat  him.  What  did  he  say?  " 

Douglas  hesitated.  "  Well,  I  can't  tell  you  exactly  what 
he  said,  Bill.  I  wasn't  to.  But  when  the  time  comes  I 
think  I  shall  be  able  to  do  something  for  my  pals.  I 
can't  say  more  than  that  at  present.  You  must  leave  it 
to  me." 

"  Right  you  are,  my  boy.  You  seem  to  have  played 
your  cards  well.  And  whether  you  make  anything  out  of 
him  or  not,  you've  got  him  as  a  neighbour,  and  he  seems 
to  be  a  fairly  useful  one." 

The  dinner-party  at  Kemsale  ought  to  have  brought 
some  consolation  to  Mrs.  Brown  for  opportunities  denied 
her.  Meadshire,  who  had  to  take  her  in,  and  regretted 
the  necessity  as  much  as  she,  told  her  that  not  even  when 
Royalty  had  been  entertained  at  Kemsale  had  there  been 
"  a  finer  show."  "  Except  in  the  matter  of  plate,"  he  said. 
"  I'm  speaking  the  absolute  truth,  so  I'm  bound  to  say 
we  beat  you  there.  We  had  some  magnificent  Tudor 
plate.  It  was  the  first  thing  I  got  rid  of.  But  I  doubt 
if  my  old  grandfather  gave  them  a  better  feed  than  this, 
Mrs.  Brown;  and  as  for  the  flowers,  we  never  had  any- 
thing like  'em." 

Mrs.  Brown  suspected  that  she  was  being  laughed  at, 
but  answered  with  cold  propriety,  and  made  a  mental  note 


344  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

to  the  effect  that  still  more  plate  was  wanted,  Tudor  if 
possible. 

If  this  was  the  largest  dinner-party  that  Mrs.  Brown 
had  ever  given,  as  it  was,  for  the  great  room  would  have 
hardly  taken  another  table  anywhere,  and  was  at  least 
double  the  size  of  any  she  had  had  to  fill  before,  it  was 
also  by  far  the  merriest.  It  is  to  be  doubted  whether 
the  majority  of  the  guests  would  not  have  enjoyed  them- 
selves just  as  much  if  the  viands  and  the  wines  had  not 
been  of  such  super-excellence,  or  the  accessories  of  the 
feast  so  elaborate.  They  were  for  the  most  part  very  young 
people  staying  in  the  house,  some  of  them  drawn  from 
circles  in  which  such  displays  of  wealth  were  not  unknown, 
but  more  still  quite  unaccustomed  to  them.  When  the 
chatter  and  laughter  was  at  its  height,  Armitage  Brown, 
who  had  been  talking  quietly  to  Lady  Grace  on  the  one 
side  of  him  and  Virginia  Clinton  on  the  other,  looked 
round  him  with  a  pleased  smile.  It  was  the  first  time 
in  his  life  that  he  had  enjoyed  one  of  his  wife's  parties, 
or  felt  that  the  lavish  display  of  hospitality  that  marked 
them  had  its  reward.  "  We  can  hardly  hear  ourselves 
speak,"  he  said,  "  but  I  shouldn't  mind  if  they  made  more 
noise  still.  I  really  believe  they're  enjoying  themselves." 

"  Mr.  Brown,  it's  the  loveliest  dinner-party  I've  ever 
been  to,  if  you'll  excuse  my  lapsing  into  American,"  said 
Virginia.  "  If  you  make  a  joke,  I  shall  laugh  so  that 
I  shan't  be  able  to  stop  myself.  I  feel  like  that,  with  all 
these  young  people  about  me." 

"  We're  all  young  people  to-night,"  said  Grace.  "  It 
takes  me  back  to  the  time  when  I  was  just  grown  up,  and 
my  grandfather  gave  me  a  ball  and  filled  the  house  with 
my  friends.  Those  are  by  far  the  best  sort  of  parties ;  and 
this  is  going  to  be  a  very  successful  one,  Mr.  Brown." 

Armitage  Brown  experienced  a  thrill  of  pleasure  at  these 


THE  PICTURES  345 

words.  He  had  been  right  in  standing  out  for  his  ideas 
against  his  wife's.  To  get  people  together  to  enjoy  them- 
selves— that  was  the  kind  of  party-giving  that  brought 
satisfaction  to  host  and  guests  alike.  It  seemed  fairly 
obvious,  but  it  had  certainly  not  been  his  wife's  idea.  He 
glanced  at  her  as  she  sat  stiff  and  stately  between  Mead- 
shire  and  a  young  man  whose  ancestry  had  brought  him 
the  honour  of  supporting  her  on  her  other  side.  Neither 
of  them  was  talking  to  her  at  the  moment ;  she  was  isolated 
in  the  midst  of  all  the  gaiety  and  friendliness.  But  as  she 
looked  round  her,  and  especially  at  the  tables  where 
Alfred  and  Katie  were  sitting,  her  face  changed  ever 
so  slightly,  and  took  on  that  look  of  satisfaction  which 
meant  that  things  were  going  well,  and  she  was  priding 
herself  on  a  success.  It  came  to  him  then  that  she  was 
beginning  to  see.  This  sort  of  gathering,  which  brought 
pleasure  to  many  whose  opportunity  for  pleasure  was  small, 
whom  it  was  so  easy  to  please  because  of  their  youth  and 
large  capacity  for  enjoyment,  was  the  right  sort  of  gath- 
ering, in  the  country,  and  for  people  such  as  themselves. 
Its  selection  was  based  upon  exactly  the  same  principles 
as  the  bright  gatherings  that  Kemsale  had  seen  in  the  past ; 
the  great  house  was  being  used  up  to  its  full  capacity. 
And  there  was  nobody  here  who  was  not  a  friend,  or  at 
least  a  neighbour. 

The  tableaux,  like  most  entertainments  of  their  kind, 
were  more  amusing  to  the  performers  than  to  the  spec- 
tators, although  there  were  some  in  the  audience  to  whom 
they  seemed  as  remarkable  as  anything  they  had  ever 
seen.  The  audience,  in  fact,  was  more  "  mixed "  than 
Mrs.  Brown  liked,  and  Mrs.  Fuller  had  told  her  quite 
plainly  that  it  "would  never  do."  Armitage  Brown  had 
required  that  some  of  the  tenants  should  be  asked.  Mrs. 
Fuller  had  said,  though  not  to  him,  that  such  a  thing 


346  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

couldn't  be  done;  the  county  people  would  be  up  in  arms 
at  being  asked  to  meet  farmers  and  their  wives.  She  had 
liinted,  with  what  had  seemed  to  her  infinite  tact,  that 
the  Browns,  being  themselves,  so  to  speak,  on  their  trial, 
couldn't  afford  to  make  such  innovations.  But  the  tact 
had  not  been  enough  to  cover  the  impertinence.  She  had 
at  last  succeeded  in  offending  her  patroness.  Mrs.  Brown 
had  not  been  unmoved  by  her  husband's  accusation  that 
she  had  made  her  sole  friend  at  Kemsale  of  a  woman  least 
deserving  of  friendship.  Her  pride  was  on  the  alert ;  Mrs. 
Fuller,  if  she  had  known  it,  was  no  longer  in  a  position 
to  offer  any  advice  as  to  what  ought  to  be  done,  without 
giving  offence.  She  did  not  know  yet  that  she  had  given 
it,  and  had  postponed  the  realization  of  a  change  of  atti- 
tude towards  her  from  Mrs.  Brown,  by  giving  way  in- 
stantly when  she  discovered  what  that  lady's  intentions 
were.  The  "  county  "  was  to  be  represented  at  this  par- 
ticular entertainment  by  those  of  its  younger  members 
with  whom  there  was  already  some  intimacy,  and  these 
were  to  be  asked  to  dinner.  For  the  rest,  the  ball  must 
suffice,  and  another  dinner-party  before  it  for  the  county's 
biggest  wigs,  or  such  of  them  as  would  be  likely  to  accept 
an  invitation. 

A  stage  had  been  erected  at  one  end  of  the  ball-room, 
an  orchestra  had  been  engaged,  the  scenery  and  the  cos- 
tumes were  the  best  that  could  be  procured  for  money, 
and  the  men  who  had  come  from  London  to  see  to  every 
detail  were  enough  to  obviate  the  long  waits  that  the 
form  of  entertainment  chosen  is  liable  to  when  undertaken 
by  amateurs.  Alfred  had  grumbled  at  the  elaboration 
brought  to  bear  upon  his  ideas.  It  would  have  been  so 
much  more  fun  to  have  painted  the  scenery  and  made 
the  costumes  themselves.  He  and  his  friends  and  Katie's 
friends  had  done  tlu's  for  a  few  of  the  pictures,  and 


THE  PICTURES  347 

enjoyed  themselves  greatly  over  it;  but  there  had  not 
been  time  to  do  it  for  all,  and  he  was  not  sorry  at 
the  end  to  leave  the  management  in  the  hands  of  the 
experts. 

The  pictures  followed  one  another  in  quick  succession. 
It  must  be  confessed  that  those  which  followed  the  stories 
displayed  in  the  popular  print-sellers'  shops  were  more 
vociferously  applauded  than  those  invented  and  carried 
out  by  Alfred  and  his  artist  friends,  fresh  and  charming 
as  some  of  them  were. 

In  one  of  the  former  there  were  two  couples  in  eight- 
eenth-century costume,  engaged  in  a  beautiful  garden  at 
a  game  of  cross-purposes.  Alfred  and  Anne  Sheard,  ap- 
parently betrothed  to  one  another,  and  Frank  Clinton  and 
Irene  Fuller,  in  a  like  predicament,  were  all  four  gazing 
not  at  their  own  companions  but  at  the  opposite  partners. 
It  was  agreed  on  all  hands  that  Frank  and  Anne  put  a 
marvellous  amount  of  expression  into  their  looks,  and  this 
picture  was  demanded  three  times.  Mrs.  Fuller  was  one 
of  the  most  energetic  in  her  applause;  and  indeed  Irene 
looked  very  well. 

Armitage  Brown  had  asked  Mrs.  Fuller  to  pay  particu- 
lar attention  to  Mrs.  Davis.  Mrs.  Fuller  had  gracefully 
accepted  the  charge,  while  feeling  annoyed  that  it  should 
have  been  given  her,  for  she  had  thought  that  her  fitting 
place  was  exclusively  with  those  of  the  house-party,  and 
those  who  had  been  asked  to  dine,  and  had  had  ideas  of 
showing  condescension  to  the  people  who  had  come  after- 
wards. She  had,  however,  escorted  Mrs.  Davis  to  a  seat 
in  the  front  rows,  next  to  her  own,  and  patronised  her 
affably,  while  occasionally  turning  from  her  to  talk  in 
markedly  different  tones  to  her  neighbour  on  the  right, 
who  was  of  the  elect. 

"  I   can't  help   fancying,"   said    Mrs.    Davis,   when   the 


348  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

curtain  had  gone  down  for  the  third  time  on  the  picture 
of  the  two  couples,  "  that  there  is  something  between 
young  Mr.  Clinton  and  that  pretty  daughter  of  the  Rec- 
tor's. Their  looks  were  almost  too  natural  not  to  be 
true." 

Mrs.  Fuller  laughed,  not  very  amiably.  "  There  would 
be  a  pretty  to-do  over  at  Kencote  if  it  were  so,"  she  said. 
"  I  think  myself  that  it  was  a  mistake  to  give  that  girl 
such  a  part.  She  did  make  eyes  at  him,  I  admit,  and 
there  may  be  something  in  what  you  say  as  far  as  she's 
concerned.  It  shows  the  danger  of  taking  people  out  of 
their  places." 

"  The  other  two  did  their  part  just  as  well,  I  thought," 
said  Mrs.  Davis.  "  Your  daughter  is  a  pretty  girl,  Mrs. 
Fuller,  and  a  nice  one,  too.  We  always  like  to  see  her 
over  at  Points  when  she  comes  with  her  father." 

Mrs.  Fuller  was  not  at  all  pleased  with  this  compliment. 
If  Mrs.  Davis  thought  that  a  daughter  of  hers  came  to 
Points  Farm  as  an  equal,  as  seemed  to  be  indicated  by 
the  tone  of  her  speech,  she  had  better  be  disabused  of 
such  an  idea.  "  She  likes  going  round  amongst  the  ten- 
ants," she  said,  "  and  often  does  it  when  she's  wanted 
elsewhere.  They  make  a  lot  of  her  here,  as  you  can  see 
by  her  being  chosen  for  a  part  like  that." 

Mrs.  Davis  was  meek  and  proud  at  the  same  time. 
She  grew  very  red  and  said:  "  That  is  an  insulting 
speech,  Mrs.  Fuller.  I  do  not  consider  that  your  daughter 
is  conferring  a  favour  upon  me  by  coming  to  my  house 
occasionally,  though  as  I  say  I  am  pleased  to  see  her  for 
her  own  sake." 

Mrs.  Fuller  thought  that  perhaps  she  had  gone  too  far. 
After  all,  the  Davises  were  very  "  good  people,"  and  not 
to  be  confounded  with  the  ordinary  run  of  farming  ten- 
ants. "  Oh,  please  don't  think  I  meant  anything  of  that 


THE  PICTURES  349 

sort/'  she  said.  "  When  she  does  go  round  with  her 
father,  yours  isn't  the  only  house  she  goes  to,  you  know. 
If  it  were  I  shouldn't  mind  in  the  least — naturally 
not." 

"  I  think  you  have  an  unfortunate  way  of  expressing 
yourself,"  said  the  old  lady,  only  half-appeased.  "  I  think 
I  will  go  and  find  some  of  my  friends  elsewhere  if  you  will 
kindly  allow  me  to  pass." 

.  "  Oh,  please  don't  move,"  said  Mrs.  Fuller,  in  great 
alarm.  Armitage  Brown  was  standing  with  his  back  against 
the  wall  at  the  end  of  the  row  in  which  they  were  sitting. 
If  the  offended  lady  should  take  it  into  her  head  to  tell 
him  why  she  was  thus  changing  her  seat  in  the  middle  of 
the  performance,  Mrs.  Fuller  was  aghast  at  what  might 
be  the  result.  "  Please  stay,"  she  said  in  an  urgent,  hur- 
ried whisper.  "  I  want  to  tell  you  something.  You  must 
forgive  my  not  being  quite  myself  to-night.  You  remarked 
yourself  how  well  Irene  and  young  Mr.  Brown  played 
their  parts.  Well,  you  can  guess  why,  perhaps.  It  has 
been  going  on  for  months.  I  wouldn't  breathe  a  word 
except  to  an  old  friend  like-  yourself,  and  I'm  sure  you 
won't  repeat  what  I  say.  But  you  can  see  how  it  is  with 
me,  can't  you?  I'm  in  a  state  of  excitement.  I  can't 
be  responsible  for  everything  I  say." 

"  I  don't  think  you  can,"  said  Mrs.  Davis  drily.  "  And 
as  for  our  being  old  friends,  Mrs.  Fuller,  I  have  never 
flattered  myself  that  you  looked  upon  me  with  any  friend- 
ship. You  have  always  considered  me  beneath  you,  and 
it  may  perhaps  surprise  you  to  know  that  I  don't  consider 
myself  beneath  you  at  all.  It  so  happens  that  I  have 
always  known  exactly  what  you  were  before  your  mar- 
riage, and  that  Captain  Fuller  descended  a  good  many 
steps  to  make  that  marriage.  I  have  kept  what  I  know 
to  myself  hitherto,  because  your  husband  is  a  gentleman, 


350  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

and  I  have  a  regard  for  him.  I  have  a  regard  for  your 
daughter  too,  who  takes  after  her  father  in  the  main, 
which  is  why  I " 

The  ringing  of  the  bell  on  the  stage  and  the  sudden 
lowering  of  lights  cut  short  the  discourse,  which  had  been 
delivered  in  a  low,  even  voice,  and  seemed  as  if  it  would 
have  gone  on  forever.  It  may  be  imagined  that  Mrs. 
Fuller,  during  the  respite  that  followed,  deeply  regretted 
the  ill-advised  speech  which  had  brought  it  upon  her.  It 
was  eminently  disturbing  too,  just  at  this  time,  to  dis- 
cover that  her  past  was  known,  and  to  some  one  whom 
she  had  succeeded  in  offending.  There  was  nothing  dis- 
graceful in  her  past,  but  the  penalty  she  had  to  pay  for 
the  position  she  claimed  in  the  present  was  that  she  could 
not  afford  to  have  it  generally  known.  Or  so  she  thought, 
being  unaware  that  it  would  have  caused  more  surprise 
amongst  her  neighbours  to  have  proof  that  she  was  what 
she  claimed  to  be  than  what  she  was. 

When  she  could  talk  again,  under  cover  of  the  music, 
she  said  at  once:  "When  you  talk  of  what  I  was  before 
my  marriage,  Mrs.  Davis,  I  should  like  to  tell  you  that 
in  my  eyes  poverty  is  no  disgrace  to  anybody.  You  may 
tell  all  the  world,  if  you  please,  that  I  was  poor  as  a  girl, 
and  had  to  work  for  my  living.  I  have  never  tried  to 
hide  it.  I  have  even  told  Mrs.  Brown  the  facts  of  the 
case." 

"  I  don't  suppose  for  a  moment  you've  told  them  all," 
said  Mrs.  Davis,  in  the  same  low  persistent  tone.  She 
also  had  been  thinking,  and  had  apparently  made  up  her 
mind  to  have  it  all  out. 

"  I  was  not  very  happy  at  home,"  said  Mrs.  Fuller, 
faltering,  "  and  I  worked  at  dressmaking  until  I  married. 
Lots  of  ladies  of  good  birth  have  done  the  same.  There 
is  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of." 


THE  PICTURES  351 

"  No,  but  you're  ashamed  of  it  all  the  same,"  pursued 
the  terrible  quiet  voice.  "  Besides,  you  weren't  a  lady 
of  good  birth,  whatever  you  may  pretend  about  yourself. 
Your  father  was  a  regimental  bandmaster,  and  married 
your  mother  out  of  a  little  sweetstuff  shop  in  a  back 
street  in  Portsmouth,  where  you  were  brought  up.  My 
own  father  was  chaplain  to  the  same  regiment,  and  I 
remember  you  very  well  as  a  forward  giggling  girl,  with 
the  worst  possible  manners  and  not  the  best  of  reputa- 
tions, though  I  don't  say  that  you  couldn't  look  after 
yourself  even  at  that  age.  How  you  managed  to  get  hold 
of  poor  Captain  Fuller  I  don't  know,  as  it  was  long  after 
I  married  myself  and  left  the  place;  but  I  recognised 
you  directly  you  came  here." 

It  was  much  more  terrible  than  anything  that  Mrs. 
Fuller  had  imagined.  She  had  thought  that  all  traces  of 
her  life  before  the  dressmaking  period,  which  was  the 
one  in  which  she  had  met  her  hsuband,  had  been  covered 
up  and  forgotten.  She  could  only  abase  herself  and 
beg  her  tormentor  to  keep  her .  information  to  herself. 
"  You  can't  be  surprised,"  she  pleaded,  "  that  I  shouldn't 
want  the  facts  of  my  childhood  known.  I  shook  myself 
free  from  them  as  soon  as  I  could.  I  have  made  a  good 
position  for  myself,  and  it  would  be  a  cruel  thing,  for  my 
good  kind  husband  and  for  my  daughter,  if " 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  alarm  yourself,"  interrupted  the  re- 
lentless old  lady.  "  It  was  for  the  sake  of  your  good 
kind  husband,  whom  you've  never  valued  as  he  deserves, 
that  I  held  my  tongue,  and  I  shall  continue  to  hold  it  as 
long  as  you  behave  properly.  But  it  was  just  a  little  too 
much  to  have  you.  of  all  people,  setting  me  in  my  place. 
As  for  your  silly  ideas  about  your  daughter  and  young 
Mr.  Brown,  I've  no  doubt  you've  worked  hard  enough  to 
bring  something  of  that  sort  about,  but  there's  nothing  in 


352  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

it,  and  you  only  succeed  in  blinding  yourself  and  making 
yourself  look  ridiculous  when  you  talk  about  it." 

The  conclusion  of  the  performance  brought  the  painful 
interview  to  an  end.  Mrs.  Fuller  emerged  from  it  much 
battered,  and  her  equanimity  was  not  restored  during  the 
dancing  that  followed  by  the  fact  that  Irene  favoured 
John  Davis  as  a  partner  above  others,  and  did  not  dance 
once  with  Alfred. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
MORE   FESTIVITIES 

KEMSAT.E  turned  up  in  force  the  next  morning  at  the 
lawn  meet  at  Kencote,  chiefly  in  motor-cars,  but  partly 
on  horseback.  At  the  last  moment  Mrs.  Brown  drew  back 
from  the  party,  on  the  plea  of  a  headache.  Her  head- 
ache was  of  the  slightest;  she  could  not  bring  herself  to 
appear  at  an  important  house  as  introducer  of  the  motley- 
looking  cavalcade  that  had  already  ridden  off. 

Horses  had  been  supplied  for  everybody  who  wanted 
them,  and  most  of  Alfred's  friends  did.  They  were 
chiefly  artists  or  students  of  art,  some  English  and  some 
French,  ready  to  get  the  utmost  fun  out  of  everything 
that  was  going  on,  and  not  to  be  deterred  by  deficiencies 
of  costume  or  ignorance  of  the  art  of  equitation  from 
taking  part  in  an  English  fox-hunt.  It  is  doubtful  if 
such  an  appearance  as  they  made  in  the  aggregate  had 
ever  been  seen  in  a  South  Meadshire  field  before;  it  was 
a  miracle  that  every  member  of  the  party  eventually 
found  his  way  back  sound  in  limb;  but  the  stiffness  in- 
duced by  the  unwonted  exercise  gave  Kemsale  the  appear- 
ance of  a  home  for  cripples  on  the  day  after. 

Alfred's  ignorance  of  horsemanship  was  not  so  great 
as  he  had  pretended.  He  had  had  his  own  pony  as  a 
boy,  and  had  been  as  ready  to  take  to  a  horse  on  occasions 
as  most  vigorous  young  men.  During  a  spring  sketching 
expedition  in  the  New  Forest  he  had  even  taken  rather 
keenly  to  hunting  with  the  stag-hounds,  but  he  had  kept 
this  fact  dark  for  various  reasons.  His  chief  objection 

353 


354-  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

to  hunting  was  that  it  was  the  sport  of  people  amongst 
whom  he  was  not  accustomed  to  find  kindred  spirits,  but 
he  was  not  sure  that  here  in  Meadshire  that  objection 
might  not  be  overcome.  There  were  young  people  from 
neighbouring  houses  whom  he  was  beginning  to  know  very 
well,  and  some  of  them  had  been  staying  at  Kemsale  dur- 
ing the  past  week.  There  had  been  a  tendency  to  form 
two  groups  amongst  the  guests  assembled.  Alfred  had 
not  been  altogether  at  his  ease  in  his  duties  as  host.  On 
the  one  hand,  some  of  the  young  men  from  the  country 
houses,  and  those  whose  presence  derived  from  acquaint- 
ance made  on  the  Riviera,  had  been  inclined  to  treat 
coldly  the  artistic  contingent;  and  on  the  other,  sundry 
members  of  that  contingent  had  shown  themselves  affected 
by  their  situation  in  such  a  way  as  to  give  cause  for  the 
coldness.  As  light-hearted  Bohemians  they  had  been  all 
that  could  be  desired  as  companions ;  in  rich  and  con- 
ventional surroundings  they  had  not  all  been  able  to  be- 
have as  if  a  happy  poverty  were  not  a  lot  to  be  rather 
ashamed  of.  Alfred  was  beginning  to  suspect  that  he 
should  have  to  choose  between  one  way  of  life  or  the 
other,  or  at  least  that  the  mixing  up  of  the  two  ways  of 
life  in  this  manner  would  not  give  satisfactory  results. 
What  he  hated  more  than  anything  was  to  feel  that  the 
wealth  whose  evidences  were  so  apparent  in  his  home 
affected  the  attitude  of  others  towards  him.  The  young 
men  of  recognised  parentage  did  not  show  that  they  were 
affected  by  it,  though  this  might  only  have  been  because 
their  code  did  not  permit  them  to  show  it,  and  it  was 
probably  owing  to  the  wealth  that  his  status  was  accepted 
by  them.  But  at  least  they  were  at  their  ease  at  Kemsale. 
So  were  the  majority  of  his  other  friends,  especially  the 
Frenchmen,  who  took  all  the  unaccustomed  luxury  and 
ceremony  as  a  piece  of  good  fortune  and  good  fun,  and 


MORE  FESTIVITIES  355 

were  not  otherwise  impressed  by  it,  or  inclined  to  alter 
their  views  of  Alfred  because  of  it.  It  was  just  the  one  or 
two  who  would  never  be  the  same  towards  him  again, 
however  much  their  friendship  might  appear  to  have  in- 
creased. It  spoilt  everything,  gave  him  an  ugly  view  of 
human  nature,  and  made  him  feel  cut  off  from  the  free 
and  careless  enjoyment  of  his  artist  life.  There  seemed 
to  be  a  fate  pushing  him  towards  rich  conventional  re- 
spectability, and  in  spite  of  the  many  attractions  that  life 
at  Kemsale  held  out  towards  him,  as  well  as  the  fact 
that  his  duty  seemed  to  lie  there,  his  inclination  was  to 
resist  the  compulsion. 

Arrived  at  Kencote,  most  of  the  artist  brigade  declined 
to  go  into  the  house  for  the  refreshment  hospitably  offered 
to  all  comers.  The  reason  given,  amidst  much  laughter, 
was  that  if  they  once  got  off  their  horses  many  of  them 
would  find  great  difficulty  in  getting  on  to  them  again, 
but  it  is  probable  that  a  hint  had  been  given  to  the  rest 
by  one  of  their  number  who  shrank  from  the  sensation 
that  their  appearance  would  occasion.  Alfred  felt  some 
relief  at  not  having  to  head  a  procession  of  them  into  the 
house,  and  hated  himself  for  the  feeling.  But  he  was 
wavering  between  two  opinions. 

The  Squire  greeted  him  and  those  who  went  in  with 
him  cordially.  "  But  why  aren't  you  in  pink?  "  he  asked, 
in  his  loud  and  confident  voice.  "  We've  got  to  thank 
Kemsale  for  a  handsome  subscription,"  he  said,  lowering 
his  tone  a  little.  "  Very  glad  indeed  that  the  South 
Meadshire  is  going  to  be  supported  from  Kemsale  again; 
it  hasn't  been  for  years,  at  least  not  by  people  hunting 
from  there.  You  must  come  out  with  us  regularly  now 
you've  once  begun,  and  you  must  get  your  coat.  I  dare 
say  it  will  be  a  lot  smarter  than  mine — ha!  ha! — haven't 
bought  a  new  coat  for  years,  and  don't  suppose  I  shall 


356  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

buy  another  now.  Well,  I've  had  my  fun;  time  to  make 
room  for  the  younger  fellows  now,  I  say !  "  He  lowered 
his  voice  still  further  into  a  confidential  whisper,  and 
took  Alfred's  arm  to  lead  him  to  the  comparative  privacy 
of  a  window.  "  There's  a  little  matter  I  want  just  to 
mention.  There's  a  rumour  going  about  that  your  father 
has  an  idea  of  keeping  the  hounds  off  that  dairying  land 
of  his,  when  everything  gets  into  order.  That  won't  do, 
you  know — make  a  lot  of  trouble.  Besides,  it  isn't  neces- 
sary. I  can  satisfy  him  as  to  that  if  he'll  come  and  talk 
it  over  with  me.  Is  he  coming  to-day,  by  the  by  ?  " 

Alfred  said  that  he  wasn't.  "  But  he  told  me  that  he 
had  given  up  that  idea  of  his,"  he  said.  "  I  think  John 
Davis  persuaded  him  that  the  hounds  would  do  very  little 
damage." 

"  Well  now,  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  that.  Of  course 
John  Davis  knows  all  about  it.  I  suppose  they've  hunted 
from  Points  as  long  as  from  anywhere.  George  Davis 
used  to  come  out  with  us  regularly  years  ago.  He's  a 
younger  man  by  three  or  four  years  than  I  am,  but  he 
gave  it  up  earlier.  Couldn't  mount  himself  so  well  as 
he  used  to,  I  fancy;  but  I  hope  all  that's  going  to  be 
changed  for  them  now.  He'll  have  to  thank  your  father 
for  that.  He's  getting  in  to  things  in  a  wonderful  way 
— your  father,  I  mean.  I'm  glad  this  rumour  of  interfering 
with  the  hounds  isn't  true.  It  would  never  have  done. 
He'll  learn  all  that  sort  of  thing  by  and  by,  and  as  for 
you,  young  man,  why,  when  you're  as  old  as  I  am,  you'll 
forget  you've  been  anything  but  a  country  squire  all  your 
life.  Gobblessmysoul !  What  are  all  those  ragamuffins 
doing  here  ?  " 

The  artistic  contingent  had  drawn  nearer  to  the  house, 
on  the  wide  stretch  of  parkland  that  lay  beyond  the  drive. 
They  presented  a  sufficiently  remarkable  appearance. 


MORE  FESTIVITIES  357 

There  may  have  been  two  or  three  pairs  of  gaiters  amongst 
the  dozen  or  so  of  them,  but  as  a  general  rule  their  trousers 
were  either  rucked  up  to  their  knees  or  in  process  of  be- 
coming so.  There  were  velvet  coats  amongst  them,  flowing 
ties,  and  an  assortment  of  brigand-like  felt  hats ;  the  young- 
est of  them  all  wore  a  long  yellow  beard. 

On  ordinary  occasions  Alfred  would  have  laughed  heartily 
at  their  appearance  and  at  the  Squire's  face  and  exclama- 
tion of  horror.  But  he  was  ruffled  at  the  speech  that  had 
just  been  made  to  him,  and  at  other  things,  and  said  stiffly: 
"  They  are  all  friends  of  mine.  I'm  so.rry  they  are  not 
ornaniental.  I'll  go  out  and  tell  them  to  move  farther 
off  if  you  like." 

But  it  was  the  Squire  who  laughed  heartily,  and  insisted 
upon  the  whole  party  being  fetched  indoors.  With  un- 
wonted sharpness  he  perceived  that  some  of  them  were 
French,  and  as  he  had  been  nurtured  on  stories  of  French- 
men in  the  hunting-field,  he  took  their  presence  as  a  tre- 
mendous joke.  Alfred's  French  friends  had  no  reason  to 
complain  of  their  glimpse  of  British  hospitality,  and  if 
some  of  his  English  ones  suffered  from  mauvaise  honte 
in  being  dragged  in  amongst  a  crowd  of  sportsmen  and 
sportswomen,  it  was  not  because  they  were  not  given  a 
welcome.  The  Kemsale  brigade  became  a  famous  catch- 
word amongst  the  followers  of  the  South  Meadshire  after 
that  day,  and  the  Squire  was  furnished  with  a  new  stock 
of  Franco-sporting  stories,  drawn  from  his  own  observa- 
tion, which  lasted  him  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

But  it  was  not  everybody  who  accepted  the  Kemsale 
house-party  as  merely  providing  a  fund  of  amusement. 
It  not  only  invaded  the  hunting-field,  and  interfered  con- 
siderably with  the  proceedings  of  the  day,  but  was  large 
enough  to  make  itself  felt  at  the  two  Bathgate  balls. 
These,  like  other  hunt  and  county  balls,  were  the  preserve 


358  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

of  the  country  houses  around,  with  the  usual  sprinkling 
from  the  families  of  country  parsons,  doctors  and  lawyers 
and  the  like,  and  were  merry  and  sociable  within  those 
limits.  But  merriment  and  sociability  from  outside  their 
accepted  limits  are  apt  to  be  looked  upon  coldly  in  such 
circles.  It  was  thought  to  be  a  very  queer  lot  that  had 
come  from  Kemsale,  and  there  was  some  resentment  and  a 
great  deal  of  criticism  brought  to  bear  upon  the  new 
people  who  were  responsible  for  its  introduction.  They 
ought  to  have  known  better,  since  they  were  only  on 
probation  themselves. 

This  feeling  in  the  air  caused  Mrs.  Brown,  who  divined 
it  readily  enough,  untold  agony  of  mind.  She  sat  stiffly 
on  the  dais  at  the  end  of  the  Assembly  Rooms,  wonder- 
fully gowned,  wonderfully  jewelled,  and  wondered  how 
she  could  ever  have  consented  to  be  responsible  for  such 
a  motley  crew.  As  long  as  they  had  been  confined  to 
Kemsale,  their  unstinted  enjoyment  of  the  entertainments 
provided  for  them  had  caused  her  to  regard  them  with 
indulgent  eyes.  But  to  see  them  making  themselves  bois- 
terously at  home  here,  to  compare  them  with  the  smart 
young  men  of  the  county,  with  their  red  coats  and  their 
sleek  heads,  and  painfully  to  collect  the  glances  of  dis- 
taste and  the  smiles  that  followed  disparaging  comment, 
was  purgatory  to  the  poor  proud  lady.  Her  husband's  ideas 
simply  would  not  do.  She  saw  it  quite  plainly  now,  and 
she  had  an  idea  that  her  son  saw  it  too.  It  was  some 
relief  to  the  acute  distress  of  mind  which  she  underwent 
on  that  first  evening — she  could  not  face  the  second,  and 
stayed  at  home — to  believe  that  Alfred  was  coming  round 
to  her  way  of  thinking.  He  did  not  wear  a  red  coat,  but 
any  one  who  observed  him  would  certainly  have  put  him 
down  as  belonging  to  the  "  county,"  and  not  to  the  awful 
crew  that  he  called  his  friends.  She  was  assured  of  that, 


MORE  FESTIVITIES  359 

and  she  watched  him  constantly.  He  did  not  look  as  if  he 
were  enjoying  himself,  as  he  had  done  the  night  before 
at  Kemsale.  Surely  he  had  come  to  see  at  last  that  he 
had  made  a  mistake  in  bringing  these  terrible  people  to 
Kemsale,  a  mistake  in  making  friends  with  them  at  all 
when  the  right  sort  were  so  ready  to  welcome  him  as 
one  of  themselves ! 

She  was  quite  right  in  supposing  that  Alfred  was  not 
entirely  happy,  and  quite  wrong  in  everything  else  that 
she  supposed  about  him.  He  did  see  plainly  that  "  it 
wouldn't  do,"  but  it  was  not  against  his  own  friends  that 
his  annoyance  was  directed.  All  but  a  few  of  them  were 
tried  and  trusted  companions,  with  whom  he  had  enjoyed 
some  of  the  best  days  of  his  life.  Until  this  public  ap- 
pearance he  had  rejoiced  in  being  able  to  give  them  an 
unaccustomed  pleasure  and  rejoiced  in  the  free  and  happy 
way  in  which  they  had  accepted  it.  It  was  what  they 
were  doing  now,  and  what  they  were  being  criticised  for. 
Hadn't  they  as  much  right  as  anybody  else  to  enjoy  them- 
selves? Wasn't  it  what  ought  to  be  expected  of  clever 
gay  young  men,  who  had  spurned  the  path  of  money- 
making  in  order  to  devote  themselves  to  a  glorious  art, 
that  they  should  not  show  themselves  impressed  or  op- 
pressed by  the  smug  self-complaisance  of  well-endowed 
respectability?  He  resented  on  their  behalf  every  shrug 
and  smile  and  whisper.  His  heart  warmed  towards  them. 
He  made  himself  one  of  them,  and  towards  the  end  of  the 
evening  his  mother  had  the  additional  mortification  of  seeing 
him  shrugged  at  and  whispered  at  with  the  rest  She  had 
dreadful  visions  of  her  own  ball-room  deserted  by  the  people 
she  wished  to  see  there,  and  Kemsale  marked  forev.  r  u 
outside  the  pale  of  "  county  "  sociability  altogether. 

When  the  night  of  the  Kemsale  ball  .arrived,  however, 
she  was  consoled  to  find  that  none  of  those  who  had  ac- 


360  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

cepted  her  invitation  had  stayed  away.  She  had  been 
rather  surprised  at  the  way  things  had  been  "  done  "  at 
the  Hunt  Ball.  The  eighteenth-century  Assembly  Rooms 
in  the  George  Hotel  at  Bathgate  had  harboured  these  annual 
gatherings  for  many  years  past.  They  had  been  considered 
extremely  handsome  at  one  time,  and  were  so  still  in  a 
faded  old-fashioned  way,  with  their  panels  of  worn  crimson 
brocade,  and  their  lustre  chandeliers  and  sconces.  It  had 
never  been  considered  that  they  needed  any  special  deco- 
ration, except  that  of  flowers,  and  these  had  been  provided 
on  a  comparatively  modest  scale.  The  floor  was  excellent, 
and  the  supper  good,  and  that  was  all  that  was  wanted 
for  an  evening's  enjoyment  amongst  neighbours. 

But  then  Mrs.  Brown  had  never  been  accustomed  to 
think  of  a  ball  as  an  opportunity  for  enjoyment.  She 
had  not  been  in  a  position  to  go  to  balls  in  her  young 
days,  and  thought  of  them  now  chiefly  as  affording  oppor- 
tunities for  display.  If  the  people  who  were  apparently 
contented  to  disport  themselves  in  such  surroundings  as 
those  of  the  Hunt  Ball  would  come  to  Kemsale  and  hold 
over  their  opinion  of  its  owners  until  they  saw  the  kind 
of  thing  that  would  be  provided  for  them  there,  she  thought 
she  could  make  them  open  their  eyes.  And  this  anticipa- 
tion had  greatly  consoled  her  during  the  miserable  hours 
she  had  spent  in  the  Bathgate  Assembly  Rooms. 

And  indeed,  except  for  the  absence  of  the  Tudor  plate, 
which  still  rankled  with  her  a  little,  there  could  have 
been  no  decorations  in  Kemsale's  most  palmy  days  to 
equal  hers.  They  were  entirely  floral;  Kemsale  had  been 
so  abundantly  decorated  already  that  there  was  no  oppor- 
tunity to  do  more  than  cover  up  its  decorations  with 
flowers.  The  supplies  offered  for  the  purpose  by  Mac- 
kenzie, who  had  thought  that  at  last  there  was  a  chance 
of  showing  what  he  could  do  with  his  great  range  of  glass- 


MORE  FESTIVITIES  S6l 

houses,  were  rejected  as  quite  inadequate,  and  he  himself 
was  swept  contemptuously  aside  as  decorator-in-chief,  and 
told  to  put  himself  and  his  stock  at  the  disposal  of  the 
London  florists  who  were  summoned  to  do  their  utmost, 
regardless  of  expense.  Mrs.  Brown  received  her  guests 
in  a  forest  of  great  palms  and  orchids;  the  walls  of  the 
ball-room  were  trellised  with  pink  roses;  all  the  rooms  of 
state  had  their  lavish  and  appropriate  decoration;  the  scent 
of  flowers  was  everywhere.  The  numbers  of  the  band 
were  limited  by  the  space  afforded  by  the  musicians'  gal- 
lery; otherwise  she  would  probably  have  made  overtures 
to  the  full  Queen's  Hall  orchestra;  but  it  sent  down  its 
swinging  strains  in  a  way  to  set  the  heaviest  foot  tripping 
on  the  almost  too  polished  floor.  Of  the  supper  it  need 
only  be  said  that  the  young  people  who  wanted  to  dance 
all  the  time  hurried  away  from  it  as  soon  as  possible,  and 
the  older  people  lingered  over  it  more  than  they  were 
accustomed  to  linger  even  over  ball  suppers,  which  are  a 
solace  to  those  whose  dancing  days  are  over  and  a  not- 
to-be-despised  part  of  the  entertainment  to  some  others. 

And  yet  there  were  criticisms — ungrateful  it  must  be 
allowed,  since  all  the  lavish  expenditure  did  make  this 
particular  ball  something  exceptional  in  the  way  of  country 
balls,  and  to  be  talked  about  afterwards.  It  seemed  to 
be  a  "  try  on,"  an  attempt  to  take  by  storm  a  citadel  that 
prides  itself  on  not  lowering  its  flag  to  money.  The  Browns 
had  been  "taken  up  "  already;  there  was  hardly  any  one 
of  importance  of  "  the  county  "  that  was  not  represented 
at  Kemsale  on  this  nis:ht.  But  the  county  was  not  to  be 
shown  the  way  to  do  things;  it  was  quite  satisfied  with  its 
own  way,  and  a  considerable  part  of  it  was  quite  as  well 
aware  as  Mrs.  Brown  of  how  "  thin-rs  "  were  done,  in 
great  London  houses  for  instance.  These  elaborate  floral 
decorations  would  have  been  suitable  for  one  of  the  rec- 


362  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

ognised  London  palaces  on  an  occasions  of  great  state; 
they  were  hardly  suitable  for  a  country  house,  even  when 
it  was  as  large  as  Kemsale,  and  the  unsuitability  was  all 
the  greater  when  it  represented  nothing  that  the  county 
was  inclined  to  respect,  except  unlimited  wealth.  Mrs. 
Brown  had,  in  fact,  made  the  same  sort  of  mistake  in  over- 
elaborating  her  ball  as  her  husband  made  in  going  to  church 
in  the  country  in  his  best  London  clothes.  Neither  of  them 
knew  their  way  about  yet. 

In  ordinary  circumstances,  the  county's  cause  of  com- 
plaint would  have  been  felt,  and  probably  expressed,  by 
no  one  more  exhaustively  than  the  Squire  of  Kencote.  It 
would  take  a  good-sized  pamphlet  to  explain  what  acces- 
sories of  life  and  what  standard  of  behaviour  would  have 
been  considered  to  be  fitting  to  the  various  social  states  of 
which  he  had  knowledge;  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  the 
explanation  would  then  have  satisfied  anybody  who  did 
not  stand  exactly  where  he  stood  himself.  But  the  prin- 
ciple behind  its  subtleties  and  self-contradictions  would 
have  been  fairly  plain.  In  spite  of  his  own  dignity  as  the 
head  of  an  ancient  line,  and  the  wealth  that  more  than 
supported  it,  he  had  always  clung  to  an  essential  simplicity 
of  life.  It  was  the  things  one  did  in  the  country  that  were 
of  importance;  the  end  must  not  be  obscured  by  the  means. 
And  the  end  was  a  healthy  useful  life,  spent  as  much  as 
possible  in  the  open  air,  and  with  neighbourliness  to  rich 
and  poor  alike  to  colour  its  pleasant  activities.  Its  full 
fruition  could  be  attained  by  means  of  a  moderate  degree 
of  wealth,  and  an  over-application  of  wealth  to  its  nicely 
adjusted  parts  would  throw  the  complicated  machine  out 
of  balance. 

But  the  Squire's  critical  faculty  was  asleep  on  this 
occasion.  He  even  defended  the  profuse  spectacle  against 
disparaging  comment.  "  What  are  a  few  flowers  more  or 


MORE  FESTIVITIES  S6S 

less  to  people  like  this?  Very  pretty  and  bright  I  call 
the  whole  thing;  rather  a  compliment  that  we  country 
bumpkins  are  considered  worth  such  a  show,  I  think,"  was 
the  line  of  his  defence.  And  to  one  or  two  of  his  particu- 
lar cronies  there  would  be  a  confidential  "  They  tell  me 

this  man's  worth '  The  figures  were  only  indicated  in 

a  roundabout  way,  but  the  fact  plainly  emerged,  for  those 
who  knew  the  Squire,  that  he  felt  some  personal  interest 
in  them,  and  his  pride  that  aped  humility  set  tongues  wag- 
ging in  a  way  that  would  have  offended  him  deeply,  only 
that  he  had  no  idea  that  his  most  secret  desires  were,  as 
it  were,  cried  aloud  by  himself. 

He  had  not  been  present  at  either  of  the  Bathgate  gath- 
erings, and  would  have  considered  that  his  age  absolved 
him  from  attending  this  one,  if  he  had  not  wished  to  see 
for  himself  how  affairs  were  progressing  in  a  certain 
quarter. 

Frank  had  secured  a  fortnight's  leave  over  Christmas, 
and  had  spent  the  preceding  week  of  it  at  Kemsale.  He 
had  also  visited  Kemsale,  as  has  been  said,  on  every  occa- 
sion that  he  had  made  a  flying  appearance  at  Kencote,  and 
those  appearances  had  sometimes  been  of  such  short  dura- 
tion that  it  was  only  natural  to  suppose  that  a  very  strong 
attraction  had  led  him  to  make  the  journey  down  to  Mead- 
shire  when  most  young  men  in  his  position  would  only  have 
used  the  opportunity  for  a  little  jollification  in  town. 
Surely  by  this  time  something  might  be  expected  to  come 
of  it!  The  Squire,  remembering  his  own  youth,  had  a 
strong  suspicion  that  such  an  occasion  as  this  would  be 
very  likely  to  bring  matters  to  a  head. 

And  so  it  did.  Frank  had  spent  the  most  blissful  week 
of  his  life  at  Kemsale.  and  this  was  to  be  the  end  of  it. 
Anne,  who  was  now  a  prime  favourite  in  the  house,  had 
been  caught  up  and  enveloped  in  all  the  excitements  of 


364  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

the  time.  He  had  been  with  her  every  day,  and  often  for 
the  whole  day.  They  had  floated  with  the  glamourous 
tide,  understanding  one  another  perfectly,  and  being 
understood  and  abundantly  sympathised  with  by  most  of 
those  who  had  such  frequent  opportunities  of  observing 
them.  They  were  constantly  left  together.  No  one  would 
have  thought  of  claiming  either  of  them  for  anything  sepa- 
rately. The  young  man  was  so  gallant  and  handsome,  the 
girl  so  pretty  and  sweet,  that  it  was  felt  to  be  an  idyll  to 
be  treated  with  tenderness,  not  to  be  too  much  talked  about. 
Probably  Mrs.  Brown  was  the  only  one  of  all  the  large 
company  who  did  not  know  what  was  going  on  under  her 
eyes,  and  even  hers  could  hardly  have  remained  blind  to 
it  if  on  the  night  of  the  Hunt  Ball  she  had  not  been  so 
immersed  in  other  thoughts,  and  had  not  stayed  away  from 
the  ball  on  the  night  after.  By  this  time  it  was  well  enough 
known  to  "  the  county  "  at  large,  and  it  was  a  little  ill- 
natured  of  some  of  the  Squire's  more  intimate  friends  not 
to  give  him  a  hint  of  it,  but  to  wait  and  see  the  realization 
of  the  truth,  and  what  should  follow  it,  break  in  upon  him 
gradually. 

The  poor  old  man,  so  confident  and  self-satisfied  in  the 
early  hours  of  the  evening,  provided  all  that  could  have 
been  desired  in  the  way  of  entertainment  to  the  cynics  as 
the  truth  did  gradually  dawn  upon  him.  As  is  the  way  of 
young  men  in  his  case,  Frank  made  his  concessions  to  what 
he  conceived  to  be  his  duty  at  the  outset,  so  as  to  be  able  to 
give  himself  up  more  completely  to  his  inclinations  later  on. 
He  danced  twice  with  Katie,  and  the  Squire  beamed  each 
time,  did  not  know  he  was  beaming,  but  was  closely  observed. 
Then  came  a  dance  with  Anne,  during  which  he  made  some 
of  those  observations  already  recorded.  This  dance  was 
followed  by  a  prolonged  period  of  absence,  during  which  he 
began  to  show  himself  somewhat  puzzled  and  disturbed. 


MORE  FESTIVITIES  365 

And  so  the  game  went  on,  until,  finally,  after  a  much  longer 
period  of  absence,  the  two  of  them  came  back  into  the  ball- 
room, and  their  faces  showed  as  plainly  as  faces  could 
show  anything  that  amidst  all  the  troubles  and  misunder- 
standings of  the  world  here  were  two  young  people  who 
feared  nothing  of  what  might  come  as  long  as  they  could 
meet  it  together. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE    OLD    AND    THE   NEW 

"  I  CALL  this  the  haunt  of  peace/'  said  Alfred.  "  After 
the  turmoil  we  have  been  living  in  it's  like  coming  to  a  de- 
lightful rest  cure." 

He  and  Katie  were  lunching  at  the  Herons'  Nest  with 
Grace  and  Meadshire  alone.  The  spacious  dining-room, 
with  its  oaken  floor,  old  panelling,  and  fine  furnishing,  might 
have  been  in  some  ancient  peaceful  house  that  had 
known  no  change  for  generations.  The  winter  sun  flooded 
the  room,  and  through  the  open  windows  nothing  could  be 
seen  but  the  massed  ranks  of  the  pines  on  the  other  side 
of  the  gorge,  and  nothing  could  be  heard  but  the  music  of 
the  water  on  the  rocks  below. 

But  if  the  scene  was  quiet  and  untroubled,  the  faces  of 
the  four  who  sat  at  the  table  were  not.  Alfred  showed 
his  disquiet  less  than  any  of  them,  and  perhaps  his  disquiet 
was  less  than  theirs.  But  he  was  feeling  dispirited  and  out 
of  gear,  and  in  spite  of  his  words  he  was  gaining  no  solace 
from  this  companionship  of  four. 

Meadshire  was  in  a  frowning  discontented  mood.  He  sat 
for  long  periods  saying  nothing,  and  when  he  did  speak  had 
nothing  to  say  that  had  any  effect  upon  the  general  depres- 
sion. He  was  drinking  nothing  but  water;  otherwise,  Alfred, 
who  became  more  and  more  irritated  with  him  as  the  meal 
progressed,  would  have  suspected  him  of  being  on  the  road 
to  one  of  his  periodical  breakdowns.  Grace  looked  at  him 
sadly  every  now  and  then,  but  tried  to  keep  the  ball  of  con- 
versation rolling.  Her  face  was  thin  and  her  eyes  heavy. 
Alfred  wondered  how  he  could  ever  have  thought  her  young. 

866 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  367 

Her  face  kept  its  sweetness,  but  it  was  that  of  a  middle-aged 
woman. 

Little  Katie  made  valiant  efforts  to  be  bright  and  talka- 
tive, but  her  efforts  were  not  a  success.  She  looked  as  if 
she  had  been  crying.  She  and  Alfred  had  not  been  much 
together  while  Kemsale  had  been  full,  but  now  all  the  guests 
had  departed  it  had  come  to  him  that  she  had  not  shown 
that  happy  gaiety  that  might  have  been  expected  of  her, 
with  so  many  of  her  friends  around  her  and  so  much  to 
occupy  them.  He  had  asked  her,  as  they  had  walked  to  the 
Herons'  Nest  together,  if  there  was  anything  the  matter 
with  her,  and  she  had  denied  it  vigorously.  He  had  not 
pressed  his  inquiries,  thinking  that  he  might  have  been  mis- 
taken as  to  the  past,  and  that  the  reaction  from  gaiety  to 
dullness  might  account  for  her  dejection  of  the  present. 
Now  he  thought  that  there  must  be  something — something 
between  her  and  Grace;  but  he  did  not  connect  it  with 
Meadshire's  lowering  state,  except  so  far  as  he  made  every- 
body in  his  presence  uncomfortable. 

They  were  talking  of  Frank  Clinton  and  Anne  Sheard. 
Sympathy  with  those  happy  lovers  brightened  the  faces  of 
three  of  them  until  Meadshire  struck  in. 

"  You  don't  suppose  Edward  Clinton  is  going  to  allow 
that,  do  you  ?  "  he  asked ;  and  his  eye  rested  for  a  moment 
on  Katie. 

Grace  spoke  hurriedly  as  if  to  prevent  him  from  saying 
more.  "  He  may  be  a  little  disappointed  at  first,"  she  said. 
"  But  he  can't  help  loving  that  sweet  little  Anne  when  he 
knows  her.  He  is  much  more  soft-hearted  than  he  gives 
himself  credit  for." 

"  He's  much  more  soft-headed,"  growled  Kemsale.  "  But 
there  are  two  gods  he  worships,  money  and  birth,  and  as 
your  sweet  little  Anne  has  neither  he'll  kick  up  a  devil  of  a 
row  about  it." 


368  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  Yes,  perhaps  he  will  make  a  fuss — poor  Cousin  Ed- 
ward !  He  did  about  Dick  and  Virginia ;  but  he  adores  Vir- 
ginia now." 

"  That's  very  different.  Virginia  had  money ;  and  she  was 
a  beautiful  woman — an  American,  and  you  don't  ask  for 
birth  from  them.  I  don't  see  Edward  welcoming  a  pretty 
little  girl  out  of  a  country  parsonage  whose  parents  are — 
well,  we  all  know  what  they  are — as  good  as  they  make  'em. 
They'll  do  for  us,  but  they  won't  do  for  Edward." 

"  If  Frank  Clinton  has  any  pluck,"  said  Alfred,  "  he 
won't  take  much  notice  of  all  that  nonsense.  He'll  just 
take  her  out  of  her  country  parsonage,  and  be  happy  with 
her.  Who's  Mr.  Clinton,  that  he  should  turn  up  his  nose 
at  a  girl  as  charming  as  little  Anne?  " 

He  spoke  with  some  contempt.  The  cause  of  his  present 
ill-humour  was  precisely  "  all  that  nonsense,"  which  had 
been  bothering  him  as  he  had  never  allowed  it  to  bother  him 
before.  He  was  going  to  make  a  stand  against  it,  to  make 
it  quite  plain  what  his  own  position  was;  and  Meadshire, 
who  seemed  determined  for  some  reason  or  other  to  show  his 
disagreeable  side,  should  have  something  definite  to  be  dis- 
agreeable about  if  that  was  what  he  wanted. 

Meadshire  turned  his  frown  upon  him.  "  Edward  Clinton 
is  my  cousin  for  one  thing,"  he  said. 

Alfred  laughed  constrainedly.  "  Does  that  mean  I'm  not 
to  take  it  upon  myself  to  criticise  him?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  we  all  criticise  dear  Cousin  Edward,"  said  Grace 
lightly.  "  But  we  love  him  all  the  same.  I'm  sure  he 
won't  stand  out  long,  if  he  stands  out  at  all." 

Meadshire  went  on  as  if  she  had  not  spoken.  "  Edward 
Clinton  is  the  head  of  a  family  that  has  been  at  Kencote 
for  something  like  five  hundred  years.  That's  a  record 
that  very  few  people  in  England  can  show.  I  don't  blame 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  369 

him  for  holding  up  his  head  about  it  and  wanting  to  keep 
his  line  what  it's  always  been." 

"  But  you  said  just  now  that  he  thought  too  much  about 
birth  and  money,"  said  Katie.  She  spoke  with  a  little 
air  of  authority,  as  if  she  wished  to  recall  him  to  himself, 
and  had  a  right  to  do  so.  And  he  smiled  at  her  as  if  he 
accepted  her  right. 

"  I  don't  say  that  I  agree  with  him,"  he  said,  more 
amiably.  "  But  when  I'm  asked  who  Edward  Clinton 
is,  I'm  giving  an  answer.  He's  something  quite  recog- 
nisable, and  has  been  all  his  life." 

Alfred  was  about  to  pursue  the  subject  in  a  way  that 
would  probably  not  have  tended  to  preserve  Meadshire's 
slight  improvement  in  manner,  but  Grace  prevented  him 
by  talking  about  something  else,  and  the  rest  of  the  meal 
passed  more  easily. 

They  drank  their  coffee  outside  in  the  sun,  and  presently 
Meadshire,  who  seemed  to  be  unable  to  sit  still,  and  had 
been  walking  up  and  down  the  terrace  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  puffing  at  a  cigarette,  asked  Katie  to  go  to 
the  upper  rocks  with  him.  She  arose  at  once,  and  Grace 
and  Alfred  were  left  alone  together. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Meadshire?"  Alfred  asked. 
"  He  doesn't  seem  to  be  in  the  best  of  tempers." 

She  laughed  at  him.  "  I  have  been  thinking  the  same 
about  you,"  she  said.  "  I  suppose  we  are  all  feeling  a  little 
off  colour  after  our  excitement  of  the  last  few  weeks." 

"  It  isn't  that  with  me,"  said  Alfred,  after  a  pause.  "  I'm 
very  glad  the  excitement  is  all  over.  It  wasn't  a  success, 
and  I  hope  it  won't  be  repeated." 

"  Not  a  success !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  think  it  has  been 
the  most  brilliant  success.  Everybody  is  feeling  extraordi- 
narily grateful  to  you  for  crivinc:  them  such  a  good  time. 
It  has  been  quite  like  old  days  at  Kemsale." 


370  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

The  last  sentence  had  been  divided  from  the  rest  of 
the  speech  by  an  appreciable  pause.  Alfred  smiled  at 
her.  "  It  is  like  you  to  say  that/'  he  said.  "  You  make 
the  best  of  us,  and  you're  generosity  itself.  All  the  same, 
I  think  your  chief  thought  must  have  been  how  very  unlike 
it  all  was  to  the  old  days  at  Kemsale." 

She  was  too  truthful  to  protest  that  she  had  meant 
exactly  what  she  had  said.  "  In  many  ways,"  she  amended 
her  statement,  "  it  was  like  our  gay  times.  But,  of  course, 
my  grandfather  was  very  old  already  when  I  was  just 
grown  up;  the  gay  times  were  not  so  frequent  as  they 
had  been,  and  it  is  natural  that  I  should  remember  best 
the  happy  quiet  times." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  said.  "  And  your  quiet  times  were 
very  different  from  ours.  You  belonged  there,  and  we 
don't.  Unless  we  are  making  a  noise  and  spending  vast 
sums  of  money  on  amusing  ourselves  and  other  people,  we 
don't  know  what  to  do  with  ourselves.  My  father  is  tired 
of  the  place  already;  my  mother  is  dying  to  get  away 
from  it  now,  and  will  be  off  directly,  with  Katie.  And  if 
you  want  the  truth  about  me,  I've  had  as  much  as  I  can 
stand  of  it  for  some  time  to  come,  and  I'm  going  off  as 
well,  if  my  father  will  let  me." 

"  It  isn't  like  you  to  talk  like  that  of  your  father  and 
mother,"  she  said  gently.  "  They  have  both  been  very 
kind,  and  have  given  many  people  a  great  deal  of  pleasure. 
And  your  father,  especially,  has  shown  himself  to  be  a 
really  good  and  considerate  landlord." 

"  I'm  not  saying  anything  against  either  of  them,  and 
perhaps  I  wouldn't  say  what  I  have  said  to  anybody  but 
you.  It  is  when  I  think  of  you  in  connection  with  Kemsale 
that  I  see  how  unsuitable  all  of  us  are  to  be  living  here." 

She  saw  that  he  wanted  to  unburden  himself,  and  though 
she  did  not  understand  the  springs  of  his  discontent,  she 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  371 

liked  him  well  enough  to  be  interested  in  them.  "  Tell 
me  why  you  say  that,"  she  said.  "  I  shouldn't  have  thought 
that  your  father  was  tired  of  Kemsale,  as  you  say  he  is; 
and  I  don't  see  any  reason  at  all  why  you  should  be." 

"  I  don't  suppose  my  father  does  know  that  he  is  tired 
of  it.  Perhaps  he  isn't  altogether.  But  ever  since  we. first 
came  here  he  has  been  trying  to  make  Kemsale  his  chief 
interest,  and  he  can't  keep  that  up  any  longer.  It  isn't 
enough  for  him.  I  suppose  he  has  made  a  great  deal  more 
money  than  he  knows  what  to  do  with,  and  I  believe  he 
had  an  idea  of  leaving  off  money-making  and  settling  down 
here,  if  it  suited  him,  though  he  has  never  actually  said 
so.  I  suppose  he  wanted  to  see  how  it  turned  out  first. 
Well,  he  has  one  of  his  big  affairs  on  in  the  City,  and  he's 
just  as  pleased  to  be  getting  back  to  it  as  if  he  were  a 
boy  going  home  from  school.  You  won't  see  much  of  him 
here  for  weeks  to  come.  He  may  be  down  occasionally 
on  Sundays,  but  he  won't  have  much  attention  to  spare 
for  Kemsale  affairs  when  he  does  come  down.  He'll  just 
•tfant  to  rest." 

"  It  is  very  curious/'  she  said.  "  But  I  suppose  every 
man  is  most  interested  in  the  things  he  does  best.  Kem 
never  really  cared  about  estate  work.  If  he  had  been 
an  engineer,  or  something  of  that  sort,  I  expect  he  would 
have  worked  hard  at  it.  Still,  he  was  fond  of  Kemsale 
when  it  was  his,  and  I  think  your  father  is  too." 

Alfred  had  not  yet  forgiven  Meadshire  his  fractiousness. 

"  I  dare  say  my  father  will  be  as  fond  of  it  as  he  was," 
he  said.  "  But  he  thought  he  was  going  to  be  fond  of 
it  in  a  different  way.  He  thought  it  would  give  him 
something  to  do  all  the  time.  Now  he  finds  it  won't,  he 
wants  to  shift  it  off  on  to  me.  ?  He  sees  well  enough  that 
it  wants  taking  care  of — that  &'s  too  big  a  thing  to  leave 
to  agents  and  business  people.  Old  Mr.  Clinton  taugh* 


372      THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

him  that,  I  think.  He  has  been  rather  impressed  by 
the  way  he  has  stuck  to  his  land,  and  his  eldest  son 
sticks  to  it  now." 

"  Yes ;  Kencote  is  enough  for  both  of  them.  Why 
isn't  Kemsale  enough  for  you?  I  thought  you  had  been 
happy  here.  You  told  me  before  Christmas  that  you  had 
never  stayed  for  so  long  in  one  place.  What  has  hap- 
pened since  to  make  you  want  to  leave  it?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  had  my  eyes  opened ;  I  expect  you  know 
why." 

She  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "  Indeed  I  don't,"  she 
said.  "  I  thought  that  having  so  many  of  your  friends 
here  would  make  you  like  it  more  than  ever.  Katie  told 
me  that  you  had  never  had  such  an  opportunity  for  hos- 
pitality before  you  came  to  Kemsale." 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  have  brightened  Katie  up  much. 
It  was  all  right  until  one  made  the  discovery  that  one's 
old  friends  weren't  considered  good  enough  for  one's  new 
ones." 

She  cast  down  her  eyes.  She  had  expected  nothing  of 
this  sort,  and  was  not  altogether  guiltless  of  having  thought 
some  of  his  old  friends  not  quite  good  enough.  She  thought 
he  was  accusing  her,  but  could  not  remember  that  she  had 
given  the  slightest  occasion  for  accusation. 

He  was  not  looking  at  her,  and  went  on:  "I  can  see 
it  all  now.  I  suppose  I've  always  known  in  the  back  of 
my  mind  that  I  could  get  into  any  society  I  cared  about 
because  of  all  the  money.  It  doesn't  seem  difficult  to 
buy  your  way  anywhere  nowadays,  even  amongst  the  people 
who  pride  themselves  on  respecting  something  besides 
money.  But  I've  hated  the  idea  of  it  so  much  that  I've 
sunk  the  beastly  money  as  much  as  ever  I  could.  I've 
made  friends  amongst  people  I've  really  liked,  and  I've  had 
a  royal  good  time.  All  those  fellows  who  were  down 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  373 

here — clever  and  amusing  fellows — took  me  for  myself, 
not  for  my  money,  or  my  father's  money.  Now,  even 
with  one  or  two  of  them  it's  different  already.  They 
think  of  me  not  as  a  fellow  like  themselves,  as  they  used 
to,  but  as  a  chap  who  is  plastered  with  gold.  I  hate  it; 
it  humiliates  me.  I'm  like  Croesus,  who  ruined  every- 
thing that  he  touched." 

"  I  think  it  is  rather  fine  that  you  should  think  about 
money  like  that,"  she  said.  "  I  can  understand  it.  There 
are  people  in  the  world  who  are  affected  towards  rank  in 
the  way  that  you  hate.  One  has  to  guard  one's  self 
against  false  values.  It  is  the  penalty  one  pays  for  being 
a  little  different  from  others.  But  still,  I  don't  see  why 
what  you  have  said  should  make  you  turn  against  poor 
Kemsale.  One's  rank  was  in  its  right  place  here,  while 
we  had  it,  and  I  think  your  father's  wealth,  which  he 
spends  here  so  generously,  is  in  its  right  place,  too." 

He  smiled  at  her  again.  "  You  always  calm  one's  ideas," 
he  said.  "  But  I  don't  think  you  really  believe  that  money 
is  a  good  substitute  for  rank  at  Kemsale.  You  make  the 
best  of  us,  as  I  said  before,  but  you  stood  out  against  us 
for  a  long  time,  you  know.  I  don't  think  you've  changed 
all  your  ideas  since  we  became  friends." 

"  I  have  changed  a  great  many  of  them,"  she  said 
simply;  "and  I  suppose  it  is  because  both  you  and  Katie 
are  so  little  affected  by " 

"  By  the  money.  Yet  it's  the  money  that  has  put  us 
where  we  are.  When  we  lived  in  a  big  house  in  the 
suburbs  of  London  you  wouldn't  have  thought  us  fit  peo- 
ple to  know." 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  talk  like  that.  You're  muddling  things 
up.  I  should  always  have  thought  you  the  nicest  people 
to  know,  if  I  had  once  cot  to  know  you.  So  does  every- 
body about  here.  I  don't  think  you  have  any  reason  to 


374  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

complain  of  lack  of  friends  here.  No  one  could  have 
made  themselves  more  liked  in  so  short  a  time." 

"  Well,  if  people  have  taken  us  up,  I  say  it  is  because 
of  the  money.  I  thought  at  first,  as  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned, it  was  because  of  myself.  So  it  may  be  with  a 
few,  but  with  the  majority  it's  because  of  the  money. 
And  I've  found  it  out.  That's  why  I'm  longing  to  get 
away,  and  be  myself  again." 

She  did  not  speak  at  once.  Then  she  said  slowly: 
"If  you  think  about  it  like  that,  it  is  of  no  use  simply 
to  say  that  you're  wrong.  But  I  think  you  are  wrong 
all  the  same." 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  not  wrong.  Any  number  of  the  people 
who  were  at  Kemsale  the  other  night  were  turning  up 
their  noses  at  us  all  the  time,  and  they  were  turning 
them  up  still  higher  at  Bathgate.  And  why?" 

"Well,  why?" 

"  Because  we  had  the  impudence  to  be  ourselves.  If 
we  had  filled  our  house  with  people  all  cut  after  one 
pattern  they'd  have  passed  us — of  course  as  long  as  we 
behaved  ourselves  humbly  and  gratefully  for  being  taken 
notice  of.  It  would  have  been  better  than  they  would 
have  expected  from  people  like  us,  and " 

She  would  not  let  him  go  on.  "  Oh,  but  I  think  you're 
talking  a  great  deal  of  nonsense,"  she  said.  "  If  you 
want  the  plain  truth,  your  friends  did  make  a  good  deal 
of  noise,  and  they  weren't  the  kind  of  people  we're  accus- 
tomed to.  Most  people  were  rather  amused  at  them,  and 
if  there  were  some  who  took  it  all  too  seriously,  you 
can  surely  make  allowances.  If  a  lot  of  fox-hunting 
young  Englishmen  took  charge  of  an  artists'  ball  in 
Paris  it  would  have  been  just  the  same,  the  other  way 
round." 

He  was  already  inclined  to  be  a  little  ashamed  of  the 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  575 

division  he  himself  had  tried  to  create  at  the  Bathgate 
balls,  and  she  had  spoken  with  more  decision  than  she 
generally  used.  "  Well,  all  that  isn't  of  much  importance," 
he  said,  rather  grudgingly.  "  It  isn't  really  what  I'm  up 
against.  I  suppose  these  people  here  have  a  right  to  have 
their  own  show  run  as  it  pleases  them.  Well,  let  them 
run  all  their  shows  as  it  pleases  them,  and  I'll  keep  outside. 
I  don't  belong  to  them.  I  belong  to  the  other  lot,  and 
it  has  been  made  plain  to  me  that  the  two  lots  don't  mix. 
I've  made  my  choice  now." 

"  Have  you  got  a  right  to  make  your  choice  in  that 
way  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  Why  not  ?  I  don't  belong  to  the  fox-hunters,  I  don't 
care  for  them,  as  a  body.  Of  course  I  like  one  or  two 
here  and  there.  I  like  Irving;  I  like  Frank  Clinton;  I 
like  a  few  of  the  fellows  who  have  been  staying  with  us. 
But  that's  only  because  they're  something  more  than  fox- 
hunters." 

"  It's  because  you  know  them.  Nobody  likes  all  the 
people  whom  they  have  to  live  amongst.  I'm  sure  you 
don't  like  all  the  artists  amongst  whom  you  have  lived. 
You  pick  and  choose,  and  the  rest  you  tolerate.  But  in 
a  city  you  have  more  choice.  In  the  country  perhaps  you 
have  to  tolerate  more  than  you  can  make  friends  with. 
It's  the  same  for  all  of  us." 

"  What  did  you  mean  when  you  said  I  hadn't  a  right 
to  choose  for  myself?  " 

"  I  asked  you  whether  you  had.  I  had  a  little  talk 
with  your  father  the  other  day.  He  wants  you  to  settle 
down  here.  He  told  me  that  Kemsale  would  be  yours 
some  day.  He  doesn't  want  you  to  do  what  some  of  us 
have  done — look  upon  a  great  country  estate  as  so  much 
property,  providing  an  income  to  be  spent,  and  carrying 
with  it  no  duties  or  responsibilities.  He  told  me  that  he 


376  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

had  come  to  see  that  that  was  not  the  way  that  land  should 
be  held — at  least  not  in  England." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he's  got  hold  of  all  that,  the  dear  old  dad. 
There's  nobody  like  him  for  seizing  the  salient  point. 
Only,  unfortunately,  he  isn't  going  to  bother  himself  with 
holding  land  in  what  he  sees  to  be  the  right  way  on  his 
own  account.  I've  had  it  all  out  with  him,  and  I  did 
make  up  my  mind  more  or  less  before  Christmas  to  give 
it  a  fair  trial.  But  what  he  doesn't  see  yet  is  that  it 
takes  the  right  man  to  do  it.  You  don't  always  find  the 
right  man  amongst  the  people  that  you  come  from,  and 
you're  less  likely  still  to  find  him  amongst  the  people  from 
whom  I  come.  You  may.  I  believe  my  father  would  have 
been  one  of  the  right  men  if  he'd  taken  to  it  early  enough. 
But  I'm  not.  It  would  suffocate  me  to  live  down  here 
all  my  life — even  going  away  a  good  deal,  as  I  should — 
amongst  all  the  people  who  think  themselves  so  broad- 
minded  and  are  really  so  narrow." 

"  Well,  I've  lived  amongst  them  all  my  life,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  don't  believe  they  are  more  narrow  than  others. 
I  think  it  is  the  happiest  life  there  is,  to  live  most  of  your 
time  quietly  in  the  country,  and  do  the  work  and  take 
the  pleasures  that  lie  close  to  your  door." 

"  I  like  to  think  of  your  doing  that.  It  seems  to  suit 
you.  When  I  go  away  from  Kemsale  I  shall  often  think 
of  you  living  here  in  this  pretty  place — so  much  nicer 
than  Kemsale  is  now,  in  the  way  we  have  spoilt  it  with 
our  money.  Ah,  if  Kemsale  had  been  what  it  was  before ! 
If  it  could  have  gone  on  somehow  with  no  change,  I  don't 
think  I  should  have  wanted  to  leave  it.  When  I  first 
came  down,  your  influence  seemed  to  be  over  it  all,  though 
the  changes  were  beginning  to  be  made  then.  I  loved  it; 
it  was  something  that  I  had  never  known  before.  But 
we  seem  to  have  rubbed  it  all  off  now — all  the  romance 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  377 

of  it.  I  don't  know  that  we're  more  vulgar  than  other 
people  of  our  sort,  but  we  do  seem  to  have  vulgarised 
Kemsale.  It  can  never  be  again  what  it  was  when  you 
lived  there." 

She  was  a  little  abashed  by  his  speech,  and  did  not 
quite  understand  it.  But  she  recognised  him  for  a  young 
man  of  originality,  who  could  say  things  that  other  people 
would  not  say.  It  was  difficult  to  answer  him.  She  thought 
of  him  and  Katie  both  as  quite  unspoilt  by  their  upbring- 
ing, but  she  did  also  think  that  Mrs.  Brown  had  vulgarised 
Kemsale,  and  she  could  not  commend  them  without  criti- 
cising her. 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  td  think  of  me  like  that,"  she  said. 
"  I  am  a  little  part  of  Kemsale  still,  and  if  it  is  any 
pleasure  to  you  to  know  it  I  am  much  happier  living  here 
with  you  as  neighbours  than  I  had  thought  at  first  that 
I  could  possibly  be — with  any  new  neighbours,  I  mean, 
at  Kemsale.  So  you  see,  the  way  it  all  seems  to  strike 
you  doesn't  strike  me." 

"Well,  how  does  it  strike  you  exactly?  You  can't  help 
seeing  that  we're  different  from  the  people  in  all  the  other 
country  houses.  I  don't  mind  being  different,  you  know. 
What  I  hate  is  to  be  in  a  place  where  one  isn't  allowed 
to  be." 

"  It  doesn't  strike  me  that  you  are  so  very  different. 
We're  not  all  cut  after  the  same  pattern,  as  you  seem  to 
think.  I  don't  believe  you  do  think  it  really.  There's 
as  much  room  for  your  tastes  in  the  country  as  for  any- 
body else's.  And  some  of  your  tastes  are  the  same  as 
those  of  all  the  rest  of  us — more  of  them  than  you're 
inclined  to  admit  just  at  present.  I  will  tell  you  what 
I  think  about  you,  as  we're  friends,  and  I  may  speak 
my  mind.  The  life  you  have  been  living  has  been  delight- 
ful to  you  while  you  have  been  quite  young.  But  it 


378  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

couldn't  go  on  in  exactly  the  same  way;  you  wouldn't 
be  satisfied  with  it.  It  is  not  as  if  you  were  preparing 
yourself  to  be  a  great  artist;  you  have  only  taken  the 
amusing  parts  of  an  artist's  life,  just  as  other  young  men 
take  to  other  amusements  before  they  settle  down  to  the 
life  prepared  for  them;  or  as  my  cousin  Dick  Clinton, 
for  instance,  took  to  soldiering  for  a  time,  not  as  a  serious 
profession.  You've  had  your  fun  out  of  it  all,  but  it 
would  be  wasting  yourself  to  go  on  with  it  much  longer. 
We  all  have  something  to  do  in  the  world.  I  think  your 
duty  plainly  lies  here,  as  your  father  wishes  it;  and  you 
couldn't  get  rid  of  Kemsale  if  you  wanted  to." 

He  sat  silent  for  some  time.  Then  he  said:  "  It  all 
comes  back  in  the  long  run  to  the  money.  Money  is  a 
dreadful  tyrant.  You  work  for  it  as  my  father  does, 
and  it  isn't  like  working  for  other  things  which  are  sat- 
isfying in  themselves.  When  you  have  worked  to  make 
it,  if  you  have  made  so  much  that  it  is  beyond  anything  a 
man  can  want,  you  have  to  work  to  use  it;  or  it  mocks 
you.  He  sees  that,  as  he  sees  most  things ;  but  he  has 
the  genius  for  making  it,  not  for  using  it.  Whatever  he 
tried  to  do  with  his  money  he  would  make  more  of  it.  He 
couldn't  help  himself.  This  scheme  of  his  that  he  has 
started  here — no  doubt  it  will  benefit  the  estate,  and  the 
people  on  it,  but  the  end  for  him  will  be  that  he  will 
make  money  out  of  it;  it  wouldn't  be  his  scheme  if  he 
didn't." 

"  He  told  me  that  he  didn't  want  to  make  much  money 
out  of  it — a  fair  return  on  his  capital  he  said.  It  was  for 
the  benefit  of  the  estate  and  the  people  chiefly.  I  think 
that  is  just  right.  It  is  what  landholding  has  always 
been  at  its  best.  The  Clintons  think  it  is  right,  and  they 
say — or  Dick  says — that  it  is  a  good  thing  to  get  new 
blood  and  new  ideas  into  it." 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  379 

"  But  don't  you  see  that  he's  got  beyond  the  point  at 
which  he  can  satisfy  himself  with  working  for  those  objects? 
The  stakes  aren't  high  enough.  He's  as  little  of  a  gambler 
as  anybody.  I  don't  believe  he  has  ever  won  or  lost  a 
penny  on  cards  or  horses,  and  I  know  enough  of  his  busi- 
ness to  see  that  there  is  as  little  speculation  in  it  as  pos- 
sible. It's  all  sheer  knowledge  and  calculation.  But  the 
stakes  have  got  to  be  high  all  the  same.  That's  why 
he's  going  back  to  the  City  now.  No,  it's  I  who  have 
to  bear  the  burden  of  all  the  wealth  he's  rolling  up;  and 
I'm  not  fit  for  it.  It  oppresses  me.  I  can't  leave  it  lying 
idle  any  more  than  he  can.  I've  got  that  much  of  his 
blood  in  me." 

"  There  are  so  many  ways  of  using  money  to  benefit 
the  world." 

"Are  there?  I've  often  thought  of  that.  The  people 
who  give  away  enormous  sums  don't  seem  to  me  to  make 
much  of  a  hand  of  it.  I  think  it's  enormously  difficult  to 
find  a  way,  when  you  have  to  dispose  of  a  great  overplus." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  only  of  late  years  that  individual  men 
have  become  so  rich  that  they  have  to  dispose  of  millions 
by  giving  them  away.  It  used  to  be  easier.  Men  were 
rich  because  of  their  land,  and  their  land  gave  them  all 
that  they  wanted.  Now  rich  men  turn  their  money  into 
land,  and  gain  new  opportunities.  I  think  that  is  the  best 
way.  I  think  that  is  the  way  marked  out  for  you  at 
Kemsale." 

"  It  looks  like  it,"  he  said.     "  I'm  afraid  so." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

HELP    IN   TROUBLE 

WHEN  Meadshire  and  Katie  had  left  the  terrace,  Mead- 
shire  said :  "  There's  very  little  to  see  in  the  garden  now. 
We'll  walk  up  to  the  heronry.  The  fact  is  I  want  to  get 
away  from  your  brother.  He's  in  a  devilish  irritable  mood, 
and  I  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  him  for  your  sake,  little 
Miss  Brown." 

She  made  no  reply.  She  was  thinking  how  she  should 
open  what  she  had  to  say  to  him. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  both?  "  he  asked  her.  "  I 
can't  say  that  you  are  irritable,  for  you  never  are;  but 
you're  not  very  cheerful." 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  she  said.     "  I'm  very  miserable." 

"  Poor  little  girl !  Why  are  you  miserable  ?  Tell  me 
about  it." 

"  I'm  miserable  about  you." 

The  dark  look  which  had  lifted  from  his  face  returned 
to  it.  "  You  needn't  worry  about  me,"  he  said. 

"  How  can  I  help  it?  You  know  how  I  love  Grace, 
and  she's  as  unhappy  as  she  can  be.  She  sees  what  is 
happening,  and  she  feels  that  she  can't  help  you.  She 
thinks  I  can.  Oh,  I  wish  you'd  let  me.  You  have  let  me 
talk  to  you  about  it  before.  Can't  you  talk  to  me  now?  " 

He  turned  round  on  her  suddenly  and  glared  at  her. 
She  stopped,  and  looked  up  in  his  face,  half  frightened, 
but  plucking  at  her  courage.  "  Can't  you  see  I'm  making 
a  fight  ?  "  he  asked  gruffly,  and  then  turned  and  went  on 
again. 

880 


HELP  IN  TROUBLE  S81 

She  was  conscious  of  a  great  sense  of  relief.  The  ice 
was  broken ;  she  could  talk  to  him  now.  "  Oh,  I  know 
you  are/'  she  said,  "  and  I'm  so  glad.  It  isn't  only  for 
Grace's  sake.  It's  for  your  own,  too.  You  know  how 
I  want  to  help  you,  if  I  only  can.  It  will  help  you  to 
talk  about  it,  won't  it?  If  one  is  fighting  against  some- 
thing, it  does  help  when  your  friends  know  it,  and  are 
thinking  of  you  all  the  time." 

They  had  come  to  a  broader  part  of  the  path,  where 
there  was  a  seat  facing  a  gap  in  the  pines,  through  which 
the  sun  shone.  He  sat  down  heavily,  and  she  stood  by 
him  looking  down  upon  his  face,  which  was  in  pain. 

"  I've  never  fought  against  it  so  hard  before,"  he  said. 
"  I've  never  fought  at  all,  except  a  little,  last  year.  I'm 
going  through  hell,  little  girl." 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  a  glance  half-whimsical,  but 
looked  down  again  immediately,  his  face  reverting  to  its 
expression  of  dark  struggle.  But  there  was  something  in 
the  glance  that  pierced  her  through  and  through.  She 
sat  down  beside  him  and  her  breath  caught  in  a  sob.  "  Oh, 
I  wish  I  could  help  you/'  she  cried.  "  I  wish  I  could 
bear  it  for  you." 

His  face  cleared  a  little.  "  You  have  helped  me,  my 
dear,"  he  said.  "  At  least,  it's  because  of  you  I'm  putting 
up  a  fight.  If  you  hadn't  shown  me  that  you  thought  I 

could — and  hoped  I  would But  it's  too  much  for 

me.  Ten  years  ago,  perhaps,  I  might  have  won  through. 
It's  too  late  now.  I  shall  fight  as  long  as  I  can;  then  I 
shall  have  to  give  way." 

"  Oh,  no.  You  mustn't  say  that.  You  can  struggle 
through  if  you  make  up  your  mind." 

He  smiled  at  her  again.  "  You  don't  know  what  it 
is,"  he  said.  "  Nobody  can,  unless  they  feel  it  them- 
selves. It  comes  and  goes.  At  it's  worst  you  can  hold 


382  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

out,  unless  the  stuff  is  actually  there,  and  then  when  the 
craving  dies  down  a  little  there's  another  sort  of  impulsion 
pushing  you  on.  I  can't  explain  it,  but  it's  stronger  than 
the  other.  It's  like  your  will  turning  traitor  on  you. 
When  I  do  give  way  this  time,  it  probably  won't  be  when 
the  craving  is  on  me.  I  shall  do  it  deliberately  when  I 
needn't — physically.  I  shall  go  dead  against  what  I  want, 
and  I  shan't  be  able  to  help  myself." 

"  Oh,  but  you  mustn't  talk  as  if  you  were  going  to 
give  way.  If  you  have  held  out  so  long — surely  it  passes, 
doesn't  it?  It  is  months  since  you  had  any  desire  to  give 
way.  It  can't  last  forever." 

"  I  don't  know  how  long  it  can  last.  It  seems  to  me 
now  that  it  will  last  till  I  do  give  way.  I  only  know  that 
I  can't  hold  out  much  longer.  My  will  is  slipping  away 
from  me.  I  seem  to  be  caught  in  a  net.  I've  reached 
that  stage  where  there  seems  no  reason  for  holding  out. 
You'd  better  forget  all  about  me,  little  girl.  I'm  past 
caring  for.  I  shan't  risk  it  coming  on  here  again.  I 
shall  go  away,  when  I  know  I'm  in  for  it.  You  needn't 
know  of  it  any  more.  When  I'm  down  here  I  shall  be 
all  right,  and  we  can  be  friends,  as  we've  always  been." 

She  wanted  to  cry,  but  held  back  the  tears,  and  put  all 
the  strength  of  her  clear  firm  mind  into  her  determination 
to  stiffen  his  resistance.  "  If  you  think  of  yourself  like 
that,"  she  said,  "  of  course  you  won't  hold  out.  I  don't 
understand  all  about  it,  but  I  know  that  it  can't  be  neces- 
sary for  you  to  give  way.  There  must  be  things  you 
can  do." 

"  There  are  said  to  be  cures.  I  don't  believe  in  them 
much,  and  if  I  did  I  don't  think  I'd  try  them.  The  only 
reason  I  should  want  to  get  the  better  of  myself  would 
be  because  somebody  believed  in  me — or  wanted  to.  Grace 
—and  you  too.  Oh,  you've  put  a  little  bit  of  your  pluck 


HELP  IN  TROUBLE  383 

into  me.  I'm  more  of  a  man  now  for  holding  out  as  long 
as  I  have,  even  if  I  can't  hold  out  much  longer.  If  one 
put  one's  faith  in  a  medical  cure,  and  ran  to  it  every  time 
one  had  need — well,  I  don't  see  that  it  would  be  much 
better  than  running  to  the  other  thing.  One  would  be 
no  better  in  one's  self." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see  that,"  she  cried.  "  It's  yourself  you 
must  conquer.  But  I  didn't  mean  that  sort  of  cure.  Per- 
haps there  is  no  actual  cure  and  you  would  have  to  light 
always.  But  I  believe  if  you  fought  and  won,  the  times 
when  you  would  have  to  fight  would  get  less,  and  the 
fight  would  be  less  hard  every  time.  When  you  talk  about 
it — when  you  talk  to  me — doesn't  that  help  you?  It  isn't 
strong  enough  to  make  you  want  to  go  away  now,  and 
leave  me — for  it?  " 

"  No.  At  this  very  moment  I've  no  actual  craving.  I'm 
not  sure  that  the  worst  of  that  isn't  over.  I  wouldn't  let 
Grace  have  only  water  on  the  table  at  lunch,  but  I  didn't 
mind  drinking  only  water  myself." 

"  Oh,  then,  I  do  hope  you  are  getting  over  it  this  time. 
Perhaps  you  will  only  have  to  struggle  on  a  little  further 
to  be  free  again.  And  then  you  will  feel  ever  so  much 
stronger,  having  got  over  the  desire." 

"  Yes,  but  I've  tried  to  tell  you  that  that  isn't  the  worst 
danger.  The  struggle  plays  the  devil  with  your  will — 
seems  to  turn  it  all  topsy-turvy.  When  you  want  it  most 
it's  there,  and  when  it  seems  to  be  wanted  less,  you  find 
it  gone  altogether." 

"  That  is  where  a  friend  ought  to  be  able  to  help  you. 
If  your  own  will  is  damaged  for  a  time,  you  ought  to 
be  able  to  depend  upon  another  will." 

"If  the  friend  were  always  there!  That's  the  trouble, 
little  Miss  Brown.  It's  when  one  is  by  one's  self  that 
the  perverse  devil  gets  hold  of  one.  Well,  it's  on  the 


384  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

knees  of  the  gods.  What  will  be  will  be.  We  needn't 
spoil  this  lovely  afternoon,  anyhow,  by  dreading  what's 
going  to  happen.  Let's  go  up  across  the  hill.  Perhaps 
a  long  walk  will  do  me  good.  And  at  least  I'm  safe 
while  I'm  with  you." 

He  took  her  assent  for  granted  and  started  off  up  the 
rocky  path.  She  followed  him.  She  had  made  up  her 
inind  now  what  she  was  going  to  do.  It  was  not  easy 
to  do  it,  with  his  back  towards  her,  and  both  of  them 
walking  fast,  but  it  was  not  easy  to  do  it  anyhow,  and 
the  additional  discomfort  would  not  deter  her. 

"  If  you'll  let  me,  I'll  always  be  with  you  to  help  you." 

He  didn't  catch  what  she  had  said,  and  called  out  a 
question  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Please  stop,"  she  said.  "  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you." 

He  stopped  and  faced  her.  Her  face  was  pale  and 
her  eyes  were  on  the  ground,  but  she  raised  them  to  his, 
and  spoke  in  a  clear  voice.  "  Let  me  stay  with  you  always 
and  help  you,"  she  said.  "  I  know  I  can." 

His  face  grew  wonderfully  soft.  He  put  his  hand  on 
her  shoulder.  "  You're  a  dear  good  little  girl,"  he  said. 
"  You've  done  me  an  honour  that  I  shall  never  forget. 
By  Jove,  I  will  see  it  through  this  time,  for  your  sake. 
But  you  shan't  sacrifice  yourself  for  me,  my  dear.  Come, 
we'll  go  and  sit  down  again,  and  talk." 

They  went  back  to  the  seat,  and  she  said  in  a  voice 
that  trembled  a  little:  "  It  wouldn't  be  sacrificing  myself. 
It  would  make  me  happy  to  know  that  I  was  helping 
you  through  the  bad  times.  I  should  feel  that  I  was 
helping  to  save  your  soul  for  you.  It  isn't  given  to  many 
women  to  do  that  for  a  man." 

He  took  her  hand  in  his.  "  Supposing  it  went  wrong, 
my  dear !  "  he  said.  "  At  first  it  wouldn't  go  wrong.  But 


HELP  IN  TROUBLE  385 

afterwards — when  we  had  become  more  used  to  one  an- 
other! I'm  not  altogether  a  brute.  I  should  be  very 
grateful  to  you — always — even  when  the  bad  times  came 
on  me;  but  I'm  grateful  to  Grace,  and  it  doesn't  prevent 
me  from  showing  myself  a  brute  to  her.  I  daren't  risk 
it,  Katie." 

"  I  would  risk  it,"  she  said.    "  I'm  not  afraid." 

"  I  know  you're  not.  You're  the  bravest,  best  little 
soul  in  the  world.  And  you'd  never  reproach  me,  what- 
ever I  did.  You'd  stick  to  me  through  thick  and  thin. 
Perhaps  you  might  save  my  soul  for  me,  as  you  say.  I 
should  have  to  be  a  lot  worse  than  I  am  if  I  didn't  fight 
tooth  and  nail  against  myself  for  your  sake,  even  when 
it  didn't  seem  worth  doing  for  my  own.  Oh,  we'd  make 
a  great  fight  of  it,  together.  Perhaps  we  should  win. 
It's  a  great  temptation,  Katie.  But  I'm  not  fit  for  you, 
my  dear.  I'm  too  old.  I've  played  the  fool  with  myself 
and  my  chances  too  long — not  only  in  that  way,  but  in 
every  way.  I've  nothing  to  offer  you  in  return  for  all 
you'd  do  for  me.  If  I'd  known  you  ten  years  ago — but 
you  were  a  child  then,  and  I  was  already  a  blackguard 
and  a  waster.  No,  my  dear,  it  isn't  to  be  thought  of." 

It  was  she  who  felt  weak  now.  She  had  offered  herself 
to  him,  but  she  could  not  plead  with  him  to  take  her. 
She  could  only  show  him  how  ready  she  was  to  give  her- 
self; and  that  was  difficult. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  think  of  me,"  she  said ;  "  I  mean, 
I  don't  want  you  to  think  for  me.  I've  done  all  that;  if 
I  hadn't  thought  it  all  out  again  and  again,  and  made  up 
my  mind,  I  shouldn't  have  dared  to  say  what  I  have.  I 
said  it  because  I  thought  you  wouldn't;  and  yet  I  thought 
that  you  would  want  me,  if  you  knew  I  was  ready  to 
come  to  you." 

A  feeling  towards  her  that  he  had  not  had  before  was 


386  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

creeping  into  his  mind.  He  had  thought  of  her  cool  loyal 
strength  as  something  to  lean  on,  as  a  refuge  from  him- 
self; she  could  be  like  a  kind  devoted  little  sister  towards 
him — like  another  sister,  stronger  and  more  resourceful 
than  Grace.  And  he  was  fond  of  her,  and  liked  her  as 
a  companion;  it  would  not  be  irksome  to  be  tied  to  her 
for  life.  They  would  get  on  very  well  together.  But 
now  he  was  beginning  to  see  her  as  a  woman  whom  he 
nyght  desire  for  a  bride.  She  had  shown  tenderness,  not 
merely  kindness  and  courage.  She  had  no  beauty  except 
the  freshness  of  her  youth,  and  the  beauty  that  shone 
through  her  from  her  fine  true  nature;  but  that  was  more 
than  enough  to  make  a  man  desire  her  for  a  mate.  It 
made  it  harder  for  him  to  stand  out  against  her;  but  he 
was  determined  to  stand  out. 

He  still  held  her  hand  in  his.  "  Don't  think  I  don't 
want  you,"  he  said.  "  God  knows  I  do.  If  I  could  think 
only  of  myself,  it  wouldn't  have  been  left  to  you  to  speak, 
as  I  love  and  honour  you  for  speaking;  I  should  have 
asked  you  long  ago.  But  it's  the  one  thing  in  all  my 
rotten  life  that  I've  put  away  from  me.  From  the  first, 
I've  said  to  myself  that  a  man  like  me  had  no  right  to 
marry  and  share  his  disgrace  with  others.  It's  true  I 
never  thought  of  any  one  like  you,  who  knew  the  worst 
about  me  and  was  ready  to  share  it  and  to  mend  it.  If 
I'd  known  you  when  I  was  young,  Katie,  I  think  I'd  have 
let  you  risk  it  for  me.  I  can't  let  you  now,  my  dear. 
You  don't  know  the  risk.  I'm  not  fit  for  you.  I  should 
be  more  of  a  blackguard  than  I  am  if  I  spoilt  your  youth 
and  goodness  in  that  way." 

She  was  crying  softly,  but  left  her  hand  in  his,  and 
made  no  attempt  to  wipe  away  the  tears.  "  You're  not  a 
blackguard,"  she  said.  "  If  I  didn't  know  that,  I  might 
want  to  help  for  Grace's  sake,  and  a  little  for  your  own, 


HELP  IN  TROUBLE  387 

because  we're  friends;  but  I  shouldn't  have  said  what  I 
have  to  you.  I  know  of  your  faults,  but  I  know  what 
you  are  beneath  them." 

"  Ah,  but  you  don't  know.  How  can  a  young  girl,  good 
and  innocent  like  you,  know  all  that  there  is  in  the  life 
of  a  man  so  much  older,  who  has  done  what  he  pleased, 
never  held  himself  in,  thought  of  nobody  but  himself  and 
his  own  gratification?" 

"  I  know  that  there  is  much  that  I  can't  know.  But  I 
look  behind  all  that.  I  don't  fear  it.  Love  casteth  out 
fear — such  fear  as  that." 

He  was  profoundly  moved  by  the  word.  Yes,  it  was 
love  that  she  was  offering  him — the  noblest  kind  of  love, 
which  thinks  no  evil.  Might  he  not  take  the  great  gift, 
and  be  healed  and  raised  by  it? 

If  he  could  give  love  in  return!  That  would  balance 
the  account,  weighed  down  so  heavily  by  his  sins  as  against 
her  purity. 

They  sat  for  a  long  time  in  silence.  Her  hand  rested 
in  his,  as  a  token  of  her  quiet  and  willing  surrender.  Its 
touch  soothed  his  troubled  spirit,  and  whatever  there  was 
in  his  thoughts  that  lay  outside  the  great  fact  of  her  love 
for  him,  and  her  readiness  to  share  with  him  the  burden 
of  himself,  was  swept  away. 

He  turned  to  her  and  took  her  face  between  his  two 
hands  and  looked  into  her  eyes.  Then  he  kissed  her 
very  gently  on  the  forehead,  but  said  nothing.  She  did 
not  know,  when  they  walked  on  together,  nor  when  they 
parted,  whether  he  had  accepted  her  offer  of  herself  or  not. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

AN   ENGAGEMENT 

IT  was  the  morning  after  the  ball  at  Kemsale.  Frank 
Clinton  was  closeted  with  Mr.  Sheard  in  his  room  where 
the  picture  of  the  clipper  sailing-ship  Orion  hung  amongst 
the  dull-bound  books  on  theology  and  Biblical  study. 

Mr.  Sheard's  face  was  serious.  "  I  can't  say  this  has 
come  upon  me  as  a  surprise  altogether,"  he  was  saying. 
"  But  I'll  admit  that  I  didn't  think  it  was  coming  so 
quickly,  if  it  was  coming  at  all." 

"  Well,  you  can't  have  expected  that  it  wouldn't  come 
to  Anne  sooner  or  later,"  said  the  young  man. 

He  looked  confident  and  happy.  It  is  to  be  supposed 
that  his  happiness  was  so  gloriously  new  to  him  that  an 
interview  which  most  young  men  in  his  case  look  upon 
as  a  necessary  but  irksome  interruption  to  more  pleasant 
interviews  was  not  even  irksome.  He  could  talk  about 
Anne  and  take  a  delight  in  the  open  recognition  of  his 
love  for  her. 

"  Sooner  or  later,  yes.  But  aren't  there  some  difficulties 
in  the  way,  Mr.  Clinton,  that  we  have  to  consider  ?  " 

He  raised  his  honest  eyes  to  Frank's  face.  They  held 
nothing  but  liking  for  him,  as  he  sat  there  handsome  and 
strong,  with  the  glow  of  his  happiness  on  his  face.  If  he 
must  lose  his  little  daughter  he  could  not  wish  that  a  more 
proper  man  than  this  should  take  her  from  him — other 
considerations  apart. 

"What  difficulties?"  Frank  asked. 


AN  ENGAGEMENT  389 

"  Does  your  father  know  of  your  wish  ?  Would  he 
approve  of  your  marrying  a  daughter  of  mine  ?  " 

Frank's  face  fell  a  little.  "  My  father  has  had  a  sort 
of  idea  that  I  wanted  to  marry  somebody  else,"  he  said. 
"  I've  given  him  no  grounds  for  it;  in  fact,  I've  taken 
some  little  pains  to  make  him  see  which  quarter  the  wind 
was  in.  But  he  hasn't  seen  it  before  last  night,  and  at 
present  he's  suffering  from  disappointment.  It  won't  last 
long  when  he  knows  Anne." 

"  Well,  it's  natural  that  you  should  think  that.  I 
shouldn't  like  you  to  think  otherwise.  But  there  are  ques- 
tions which  young  people  in  your  state  of  mind  can't  be 
expected  to  give  much  weight  to,  and  they  are  just  those 
that  parents  have  to  think  of  most.  Let's  be  honest  about 
it — you  and  I.  Isn't  your  father,  being  what  he  is,  likely 
to  object  very  strongly  to  your  marrying  a  daughter  of 
mine?  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  answering.  You  won't 
hurt  my  feelings.  I'm  what  I  am,  and  I'm  not  ashamed 
of  it.  I  should  be  ashamed  of  myself  if  I  pretended  to 
be  something  else — something  like  your  father,  for  in- 
stance." 

"If  you  want  a  perfectly  plain  answer,  I  don't  know 
how  my  father  is  likely  to  take  it,  when  he  has  got  over 
his  disappointment.  He  won't  hear  about  it  now,  and 
that's  the  truth.  But  it  doesn't  follow  that  he  won't  do 
everything  that's  wanted  of  him  when  he  gets  used  to  the 
idea.  He's  like  that.  You  know  my  brother  Dick's  wife. 
Well,  he  nearly  disinherited  Dick,  as  far  as  he  could, 
because  he  insisted  on  marrying  her.  They  didn't  meet 
for  nearly  a  year — Dick  and  he — and  Dick  gave  up  the 
Service  and  took  a  job  till  he  came  round.  Now  he  thinks 
there's  nobody  like  Dick's  wife.  I  don't  suppose  he'd 
act  in  the  same  way  again.  He's  had  his  lesson,  and 


390  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHAXGETH 

there's  a  lot  more  sense  in  him  than  you'd  sometimes  sup- 
pose from  his  way  of  talking." 

Mr.  Sheard  may  have  been  somewhat  surprised  at  this 
very  outspoken  summing-up  of  a  father  by  a  son,  but  he 
did  not  show  it.  "  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  cir- 
cumstances of  your  brother's  marriage/'  he  said.  "  But 
I've  been  told  that  his  wife  was  a  lady  of  title  before  he 
married  her.  Your  father's  objections  to  her  can't 
have  been  the  same  as  they  might  be  towards  my  little 
Anne." 

"  She  was  the  widow  of  a  fellow  with  a  title.  That's 
all.  She  wasn't  of  the  sort  that  he  expected  his  eldest 
son  to  marry.  He  didn't  know  her,  mind  you.  When 
he  did,  he  came  right  round.  You  see,  he's  lived  tied 
down  to  Kencote  for  the  whole  of  his  life.  He  can't 
forget  he's  a  big  man  in  this  little  corner  of  the  world, 
and  that  our  family  has  been  here  for  hundreds  of  years. 
Perhaps  it's  all  more  important  to  him  than  it  ought 
to  be." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Clinton,  I've  no  fault  to  find  with  a  man 
who  prides  himself  on  his  birth  and  his  position,  as  long 
as  it  leads  him  in  the  paths  of  honour.  And  I  can't  say 
that  I  think  it's  wrong  for  him  to  wish  that  his  children 
should  marry  into  families  something  like  his  own.  That's 
his  side  of  it.  But  we've  got  our  side  too,  you  know — 
we  people  without  birth  or  wealth.  As  far  as  you're  con- 
cerned you've  put  that  aside.  I'm  not  ashamed  to  say 
that  you  do  us  honour  by  treating  us  as  equals.  If  Anne 
marries  you  she  marries  into  a  family  that's  a  good  deal 
above  her  own,  and  I  don't  pretend  it  wouldn't  be  a  grati- 
fication to  us,  if  it  could  be  happily  brought  about.  But 
we  have  our  proper  pride  as  well  as  those  above  us.  It 
wouldn't  be  for  us  to  aim  at  such  a  marriage  for  our 
daughter.  If  what  we  are,  and  what  she  is,  is  enough, 


AN  ENGAGEMENT  391 

on  both  sides,  no  one's  pride  suffers.  But  if  it  isn't,  then 
my  objections  would  be  as  strong  as  your  father's,  and 
they  would  come  from  the  same  source." 

"  You  mean  that  " 

"  I  mean  that  before  I  consent  to  a  marriage  between 
you  and  Anne,  your  father  must  consent  to  it.  It's  for 
him  to  take  the  first  step,  because  it's  for  him  to  waive 
the  difference  between  us,  not  for  me." 

Frank  was  conscious  of  a  drop  in  his  happy  confidence. 
He  knew  enough  of  the  man  before  him  to  recognise  that 
he  said  nothing  that  he  did  not  mean,  or  was  not  prepared 
to  act  on.  "  I'm  long  since  of  age,  you  know,"  he  said. 
"  And  I'm  not  dependent  on  my  father  altogether,  though 
I  should  expect  him  to  make  provision  for  me  when  I 
married." 

"  But  Anne  isn't  of  age.  In  any  case,  I  shouldn't  want 
her  to  marry  until  some  little  time  had  elapsed;  but  we're 
not  ready  to  talk  of  that  yet.  And  I  say  nothing  of  pro- 
vision for  marriage.  My  ideas  of  a  suitable  provision 
would  probably  be  different  from  yours;  they  would  cer- 
tainly be  very  different  from  your  father's.  I  married 
on  a  hundred  and  fifty  a  year,  and  I  should  let  Anne  do 
the  same,  if  I  trusted  the  man  who  married  her.  I  should 
trust  you;  we  needn't  talk  about  that  side  of  it  at  all. 
She'd  go  to  you  with  nothing;  she'd  be  one  with  you, 
whether  you  were  rich  or  poor;  you'd  work  it  out  to- 
gether. I  sometimes  think  that  the  start  in  life  of  a  young 
couple  amongst  the  people  I  belong  to — wher?  they  take 
their  risks  together — is  a  happier  thing  than  what  you  are 
accustomed  to  in  your  circles,  where  all  is  made  easy  for 
them  from  the  beginning.  But  that's  going  too  far  at 
present,  too.  I  just  say  it,  so  as  to  make  it  quite  plain 
that  I'm  asking  for  nothing  for  Anne,  except  that  she 
shall  be  received  as  a  daughter  in  your  father's  house. 


392  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

That  I  have  a  right  to  ask  for  her,  and  I  can't  give  my 
consent  without  it." 

"  Yes/'  said  Frank  slowly,  "  you  have  every  right  to 
ask  for  that;  and  I  shouldn't  be  satisfied  for  her  with- 
out it.  I  wish  I  could  take  her  over  to  get  it  now.  She'd 
get  it  from  my  mother,  and  my  sisters — I  think  from 
every  one  except  my  father.  And  she'll  get  it  from  him 
by  and  by.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  made  more  certain 
of  him  before  I  came  to  see  you,  before  I  spoke  to  Anne. 
I  don't  like  to  think  I  can't  take  her  to  my  home,  proud 
as  I  am  of  her." 

"  Well,  it's  one  of  the  little  complications  that  come 
from  the  differences  we've  been  talking  about.  I  shan't 
allow  it  to  vex  me,  and  if  I  were  you,  I  shouldn't  take  it 
too  much  to  heart.  Little  Anne  won't,  I  know,  as  long 
as  she's  sure  of  you." 

"  Then  you  don't  forbid  me  to  see  her,  until  I've  settled 
up  with  my  father,  or  to  write  to  her?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  It's  you  I'm  ready  to  give  her  to,  and  I'll 
give  her  to  you  gladly  when  the  time  comes.  If  it  doesn't 
come  before,  it  will  come  when  she's  of  age,  and  can 
choose  for  herself.  I  shouldn't  consider  I  had  the  right 
then  to  stand  on  my  pride.  I'm  afraid  that's  what  it 
comes  to  now,  but  I  think  I'm  right  to  do  it." 

As  Frank  rode  home  that  afternoon,  with  Anne's  kisses 
warm  on  his  lips,  he  asked  himself  whether  he  was  not 
better  off  in  having  found  her  where  she  was,  than  if 
she  had  been  of  some  great  house,  kept  and  guarded  from 
him  until  all  the  tiresome  side-issues  of  betrothal  had 
been  settled  for  them.  Their  love  for  one  another  was 
so  fresh  and  still  so  wonderful  that  it  was  enough  for 
them  at  present  to  spend  those  blissful  hours  together, 
to  feed  on  them  in  memory,  to  look  forward  with  keenest 
delight  to  letters,  when  they  should  be  parted,  and  to 


AN  ENGAGEMENT  303 

meeting  again;  always  with  the  bright  hope  before  them 
of  a  time  when  they  should  be  together  for  always.  A 
long  engagement !  It  was  a  more  common  experience 
amongst  Anne's  people  than  amongst  his.  Lovers'  inter- 
course was  founded  on  it;  their  freedom  was  not  affected 
by  difficulties  in  the  way  of  an  early  marriage,  and  if 
those  difficulties  were  not  as  a  rule  of  the  same  kind  as 
the  difficulties  that  confronted  him,  still,  Anne's  parents 
had  treated  them  in  the  same  way — as  presenting  no 
obstacle  to  a  complete  understanding  between  him  and 
her.  Within  due  limits  their  affair  was  their  own.  They 
might  not  marry  till  the  way  was  clear,  but  they  were 
not  forbidden  to  be  happy  in  their  love  for  one  another, 
or  to  plight  their  troth,  as  if  the  obstacles  would  never 
be  overcome. 

Frank  had  found  it  difficult  at  first  to  talk  to  Anne  of 
what  had  happened  since  he  had  parted  from  her  the 
night  before.  He  was  so  afraid  of  hurting  her,  so  ashamed 
of  having  to  make  her  understand  that  he  had  not  yet 
been  able  to  make  a  welcome  for  her  in  his  home.  But  she 
was  so  young,  and  so  shy  with  everybody  but  him — and 
with  him  she  was  adorably  shy,  but  in  another  manner — 
that  she  rather  dreaded  having  to  face  his  people  at 
Kencote,  and  it  was  an  actual  relief  to  her  not  to  have 
to  do  so  while  the  wonderful  thing  that  had  happened 
to  her  was  still  so  new,  and  what  should  come  of  it  was 
hardly  yet  in  her  thoughts.  She  wanted  no  one  but  him 
at  present;  she  liked  to  feel  that  she  was  "engaged"; 
but  marriage  was  a  long  way  off  yet.  They  would  come 
to  that  slowly,  after  long  happy  months,  perhaps  after 
years.  It  didn't  matter  now  how  long  it  would  be,  since 
Frank  was  hers  to  love  and  to  think  about,  and  had  prom- 
ised to  write  to  her  every  day. 

So  his   task  was  easy,  after  all,  and  he  had  to  thank 


304  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

the  ideas  to  which  Anne  had  been  brought  up  for  it;  or 
rather  the  ideas  to  which  she  had  not  been  brought  up. 
His  father  was  not  ready  yet  to  sanction  their  marriage. 
Anne  saw  nothing  much  to  trouble  her  in  that,  though 
she  was  a  little  surprised  that  Frank  said  nothing  about 
his  sanctioning  their  engagement,  which  to  her  was  quite 
a  different  thing.  But  she  saw  that  in  respect  of  the 
sanction  it  was  to  be  considered  the  same  thing,  by  the 
way  Frank  spoke  of  it,  and  she  was  quite  prepared  to 
leave  it  to  him  to  remove  the  difficulties,  all  in  good  time. 
He  found  that  it  was  not  necessary  to  explain  to  her 
what  they  were.  In  his  relief  he  made  some  slight  sacri- 
fice of  filial  affection.  Anne  was  left  with  a  vague  idea 
that  the  Squire  was  rather  a  tiresome  old  gentleman  who 
would  come  round  all  in  good  time,  and  she  displayed 
much  more  interest  in  whether  Mrs.  Clinton  would  love 
her,  and  whether  Frank's  sisters  wouldn't  be  too  "  grand  " 
for  her.  He  was  able  to  reassure  her  on  both  these  points, 
from  his  own  convictions  on  them,  but  it  was  represented 
to  her  that  until  his  father  "  came  round "  there  might 
be  some  difficulty  in  their  all  coming  together  happily.  He 
had  left  her  a  little  sad,  but  more  because  he  was  going 
away  the  next  day  and  did  not  know  when  he  should  next 
be  able  to  secure  a  leave,  than  because  of  what  he  had 
told  her  about  Kencote.  She  would  wait  for  him,  in  her 
happy  home-nest,  and  dwell  on  her  thoughts  of  him 
there.  She  was  not  ready  to  leave  it  yet;  it  mattered 
little  that  the  doors  of  Kencote  were  not  yet  open  to 
her. 

There  was  an  agreeable  surprise  waiting  for  Frank  when 
he  reached  home.  Joan  and  her  husband  had  arrived, 
on  their  way  from  one  country  house  to  another.  Or 
rather,  as  one  country  house  was  in  Norfolk  and  the  other 
in  Hampshire,  and  they  had  had  to  pass  through  London, 


AN  ENGAGEMENT  395 

they  had  filched  a  day  from  the  second  of  their  visits, 
and  turned  aside  into  Meadshire.  It  was  a  source  of 
gratification  to  the  Squire  that  Joan  had  made  so  many 
opportunities  of  coming  to  Kencote,  and  that  her  young 
husband  was  always  ready  to  accompany  her,  if  the  numer- 
ous calls  on  him  permitted  him  to  do  so.  Although  the 
Squire  considered  himself  "  as  good  as  anybody,"  because 
of  his  ancient  birth,  and  the  wealth  that  enabled  him  to 
support  it  in  honour,  and  had  had  his  taste  of  social 
eminence  in  his  youth,  he  had  lived  his  retired  life  at 
Kencote  for  so  long  that  visits  from  members  of  the  most 
exalted  aristocracy,  to  which  young  Tnverell  belonged,  were 
not  quite  like  other  visits  to  him.  Viewed  as  a  country 
gentleman,  living  in  comparatively  simple  style  in  his 
large  house  all  the  year  round,  he  was  in  fact  rather  more 
outside  the  orbit  of  his  daughter  and  son-in-law  than  the 
Sheards  were  outside  his.  Frank  thought  he  might  draw 
advantage  to  himself  out  of  this  timely  visit. 

Joan  was  considered  to  be  rather  spoilt  when  she  came 
to  Kencote,  but  all  her  demands  were  based  upon  her 
love  for  her  childhood's  home,  and  gave  pleasure  to  her 
parents  as  well  as  to  herself.  One  of  these  was  that  she 
was  always  to  have  the  old  schoolroom,  now  disused,  as 
her  special  sitting-room,  and  one  of  the  first  things  that 
had  been  done  on  the  receipt  of  the  heralding  telegram 
was  to  prepare  it  for  her  use.  So  it  was  as  they  sat 
together  on  the  old  sofa,  covered  with  faded  chintz,  in 
front  of  the  schoolroom  fire,  with  no  one  to  disturb  them, 
that  Frank  told  Joan  of  his  love  and  of  the  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  his  marriage. 

"  I  think  she's  a  darling,"  said  Joan,  looking  at  Anne's 
photograph.  "  Dear  old  Frank,  I'm  so  glad.  I  was  be- 
ginning to  think  you'd  be  left,  out  of  us  all.  Really,  she's 
awfully  sweet.  I'm  sure  I  shall  love  her." 


396  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

"  She's  ever  so  much  prettier  than  that/'  said  Frank, 
and  Joan  laughed  at  him,  and  gave  him  a  sisterly  hug. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  should  have  time  to  go  over  and  see 
her  to-morrow  before  we  go,"  she  said.  "  If  father  is 
tiresome  about  it,  it  might  soften  it  down  a  bit  for  her. 
I  know  how  much  I  felt  it  before  it  was  all  made  right 
for  me  and  Ronald.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do — I'll  say  I 
must  go  over  and  see  Grace.  Then  I'll  go  there  on  my 
way.  I'll  take  Ronald  too.  He'll  come  if  I  tell  him  why. 
I  never  feel  of  much  importance  when  I  come  back  to 
Kencote;  but  Ronald's  different." 

"  You're  a  good  girl,  Joan.  I  thought  you'd  take  it 
like  this,  but  I  wasn't  quite  certain." 

"Why,  how  did  you  suppose  I'd  take  it?  Whoever 
you  married  I  should  try  to  love  her,  if  she'd  let  me. 
And  it  oughtn't  to  be  difficult  with  a  sweet  thing  like  that. 
Let  me  look  at  her  again,  Frank,  if  you  can  spare  her. 
Yes,  she's  a  real  lamb,  as  Nancy  and  I  used  to  say." 

"  Well,  Joan,  it's  no  use  keeping  things  back.  I  don't 
think  you  quite  understand  how  it  is,  though  I've  tried 
to  tell  you.  It's  difficult,  because  whatever  I  say  about 
her  people  it  looks  as  if  I  were  running  them  down,  and 
I  like  them  too  much  for  that,  especially  her  father.  I 
should  like  and  respect  him  if  there  were  no  question  of 
her  at  all.  It's  natural  that  you  should  think  of  them  as 
ordinary  rectory  people,  and  father  unreasonable  to  ob- 
ject. But  they're  not  quite  like  that." 

"  Oh,  but  I  know,  dear  Frank.  I  was  here  when  Uncle 
Tom  came  and  told  us  about  them,  in  the  spring — when 
he  first  knew  that  Mr.  Sheard  was  going  to  Kemsale." 

"  Yes,  of  course  you  were.  I'd  forgotten  that.  He  told 
us  that  Sheard  had  been  a  curate  at  Melbury  Park,  and 
I  think  he  said  he  had  been  a  mate  on  a  merchant  ship 
before  that.  Well,  he  was  the  skipper  of  a  crack  sailing 


AN  ENGAGEMENT  397 

craft,  as  a  matter  of  fact;  but  that  doesn't  make  much 
difference.  He's  a  very  fine  fellow — simple  and  honest 
and  good  right  through;  if  you  said  that  he  wasn't  a 
gentleman  you'd  feel  ashamed  of  yourself  when  you  once 
came  to  know  him;  but  with  the  ordinary  meaning  that 
people  like  us  give  to  the  word,  that's  what  it  amounts 
to,  and  that's  all  that  father  can  see.  It  doesn't  affect 
Anne.  I'm  quite  sure  it  doesn't.  I've  had  my  eyes  and 
my  ears  open.  I  couldn't  very  well  help  it,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. She's  just  what  you'd  want  her  to  be,  wherever 
you  put  her.  I  think  you'd  be  rather  surprised  if  you 
saw  her  mother,  after  you'd  seen  her.  She's  a  dear  kind 
soul,  as  good  as  gold.  If  she  weren't,  I  suppose  Anne 
wouldn't  be  what  she  is,  as  she's  always  lived  at  home. 
But  there's  no  getting  over  it  that  she'd  be  out  of  place 
dining  here,  for  instance.  Oh,  it  seems  beastly  to  say 
such  things  of  Anne's  mother,  and  I  do  like  her,  and  can 
get  on  with  her,  though  she's  not  equal  to  her  husband. 
You  see,  Joan,  I'm  not  quite  like  the  rest  of  you.  You've 
always  lived  amongst  people  of  our  own  sort,  and  you're 
inclined  to  think  that  they're  the  only  ones  in  the  world — 
at  least,  father  is.  But  one  meets  all  sorts  in  the  Navy, 
and  knocking  about  the  world  as  I've  done.  You  don't 
think  so  much  of  position  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  You 
take  people  for  what  they  are  in  themselves.  I  tell  you 
honestly  that  I  like  being  with  people  like  the  Sheards, 
when  they're  as  straight  as  they  are,  better  than  with 
most  people  of  our  own  sort.  They've  got  their  job  to 
do,  and  it's  what  they're  thinking  about.  They're  more 
serious  than  us,  but  it's  the  right  kind  of  seriousness  and 
doesn't  make  them  less  cheerful.  And  their  lives  are 
much  simpler.  I've  come  to  like  that  rather,  too." 

"  You  know,"  said  Joan,  after  a  slight  pause,  "  I  think 
we've  all  got  something  to  thank  father  for  in  that  way. 


398  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

I  was  talking  to  Nancy  about  it  the  other  day.  I  sup- 
pose you  couldn't  call  our  life  here  simple  exactly  in  the 
wajr  that  you  mean.  There's  a  lot  spent  on  it;  father 
has  always  lived  like  a  rich  man,  and  you  boys,  especially, 
were  brought  up  to  have  everything  that  other  rich  men's 
sons  have — all  the  healthy  things,  I  mean.  But  still,  the 
life  .at  Kencote  is  simple  compared  to  that  of  most  other 
houses  one  goes  to.  It's  why  I  like  coming  back  to  it; 
and  Ronald  likes  it  too.  When  you  live  as  we  do,  and  see 
so  many  people  who  think  of  nothing  but  spending  money 
and  amusing  themselves  from  morning  till  night,  you  have 
to  take  hold  of  yourself  a  little,  and  say  that  you're  not 
going  to  make  amusement  the  chief  end  of  your  life.  Per- 
haps we  owe  more  to  darling  mother  than  we  do  to  father 
— we  girls,  I  mean — but,  in  spite  of  all  his  funny  little 
ways  of  looking  at  things,  he  has  stuck  to  his  simple  old- 
fashioned  manner  of  living.  We  used  to  grumble  at  being 
dull  here  sometimes,  but  we  love  to  think  of  it  all  now,  and 
to  come  back  to  it." 

"  Well,  I  haven't  had  as  much  experience  of  the  other 
sort  of  life  as  you  have.  I  dare  say  you're  right  though, 
and  compared  with  that  this  is  quiet,  and  perhaps  dull. 
But  it  seems  to  me  pretty  complicated.  When  I  went  to 
stay  with  Humphrey  in  Australia,  we  took  a  trip  out  west 
and  stayed  for  a  week  with  a  pal  of  his.  There  wasn't 
a  servant  within  miles,  and  we  did  every  mortal  thing 
for  ourselves.  Humphrey  said  it  was  the  only  life  worth 
living,  and  he  hadn't  a  care  in  the  world;  and  you  know 
what  Humphrey  used  to  be — couldn't  shift  a  yard  without 
his  man,  and  would  have  thought  that  a  fellow  who  didn't 
dress  for  dinner  every  night  was  beyond  the  pale  al- 
together." 

"  Humphrey  had  the  right  stuff  in  him  all  along,  and 
now  it  has  come  out.  Father  was  always  against  his 


AN  ENGAGEMENT  399 

extravagance,  and  his  fashionableness,  when  he  was  young 
— poor  Humphrey !  " 

"  He  was  against  a  lot  of  things.  I  suppose  he  has 
always  had  his  fixed  ideas,  and  they're  not  those  of  the 
smart  world.  But  they  don't  help  me  much  now.  He's 
just  as  much  against  the  far  greater  simplicity  of  people 
like  the  Sheards  as  he  is  against  the  extravagance  on  the 
other  side." 

"  But  it  isn't  because  they  live  simply  that  he's  against 
them." 

"  Oh,  well,  we  know  why  he's  against  them.  They're 
not  good  enough  for  him.  But  I  say  it  is  really  because 
of  their  simplicity.  Their  ways  are  different  from  ours. 
That's  all  there  is  to  it.  He  doesn't  know  what  good 
people  they  all  are.  He  doesn't  want  to  know;  that 
doesn't  count." 

A  gong  boomed  through  the  house.  It  was  the  second 
that  had  sounded,  and  denoted  that  half  the  time  appointed 
for  dressing  had  passed  away.  Joan  sprang  up.  "  I  really 
must  go,"  she  said.  "  Dear  Frank,  it  will  come  all  right 
in  the  end.  I  am  going  to  see  to  it  for  you.  I  believe  I 
know  father  better  than  you  do." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  SYNDICATE 

THE  Irvings  were  sitting  at  breakfast.  The  happy  month 
of  June  had  come  round  again.  June  was  a  glorious  month 
at  Little  Kemsale  because  of  the  roses,  which  were  the 
Irvings'  specialty.  Neither  of  them  liked  to  be  away  for 
a  night  while  the  roses  were  in  their  full  glory.  There 
was  a  great  bowl  of  them  on  the  breakfast-table,  and 
another  on  the  sideboard.  The  room  was  scented  with 
them.  And  new  beds  had  been  dug  the  previous  autumn 
along  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house.  These  were  filled 
with  the  newer  varieties,  and  the  first  thing  to  be  done 
every  morning  was  to  go  and  see  what  new  treasure  had 
unfolded  itself  during  the  night. 

But  during  this  May  and  June  Douglas  had  been  a  good 
deal  in  London,  running  up  one  day  and  coming  back  on 
the  next  or  the  day  after  to  his  roses.  He  had  gone  up 
on  business.  He  was  in  a  big  affair  with  Armitage  Brown, 
he  told  Beatrix,  and  he  had  been  able  to  do  Bill  Bradgate 
a  good  turn,  and  put  business  in  his  way.  Things  were 
developing  extraordinarily  well,  but  there  were  all  sorts 
of  difficulties  to  be  overcome  one  by  one.  Armitage  Brown 
had  been  working  steadily  at  them  for  the  last  six  months. 
It  was  wonderful  what  a  genius  he  had  for  getting  things 
through;  Douglas  could  see  now  that  there  was  a  good 
deal  in  that  definition  of  genius  being  an  infinite  capacity 
for  taking  pains,  or  whatever  the  phrase  was.  Armitage 
Brown  brought  his  mind  to  bear  upon  each  tiny  detail,  and 
left  nothing  to  chance.  He  was  really  a  wonderful  fellow, 

400 


THE  SYNDICATE  401 

and  it  was  an  extraordinary  piece  of  luck  being  allowed 
to  go  into  a  thing  with  him. 

He  talked  a  great  deal  to  Beatrix  in  this  fashion,  but 
gave  her  no  details  of  the  scheme.  He  wasn't  allowed 
to  say  a  ,word  about  it  yet,  and  she  wouldn't  understand 
it  if  he  did.  She  must  be  careful  not  so  much  as  to  men- 
tion outside  that  there  was  anything  on,  or  that  he  went 
up  to  London  to  see  Armitage  Brown. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  his  visits  to  London  were  not  quite 
the  important  affairs  that  Beatrix  imagined  them  to  be. 
He  would  go  to  Bradgate's  office  in  the  City,  to  find  out 
what  was  going  on.  Sometimes  Bradgate  had  a  little  piece 
of  news  for  him,  sometimes  nothing  whatever  had  happened, 
and  he  had  not  had  word  with  the  financier  since  Douglas 
had  last  been  up.  Bradgate,  indeed,  had  little  to  do  with 
it  at  this  stage,  though  he  expected  it  to  bring  grist  to 
the  mill  later  on.  But  he  was  kept  informed  from  time 
to  time  of  the  broad  aspects  of  the  affair,  and  the  progress 
that  had  been  made,  and  it  was  actually  from  him  that 
Douglas  got  all  his  information.  He  got  none  at  all  from 
Armitage  Brown.  He  would  call  in  at  his  office,  and  some- 
times he  would  be  admitted,  but  not  always.  There  would 
be  a  word  or  two  about  Kemsale;  Douglas  generally  pre- 
pared himself  with  something  to  say  about  the  game, 
which  fie  now  looked  after  entirely.  Then  Armitage  Brown 
would  say:  "  Well,  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you,  but  I'm  fright- 
fully busy.  I  may  be  down  on  Sunday;  if  not,  give  me 
a  look  in  the  next  time  you're  up.  I  like  to  hear  what's 
going  on."  So  the  door  was  kept  ajar;  but  the  only  time 
he  had  ventured  to  ask  a  question  about  the  great  scheme, 
Armitage  Brown  had  said :  "  Oh,  that's  going  on  all  right. 
I  haven't  forgotten  that  you  want  to  take  a  hand.  When 
I'm  ready  for  you  I'll  let  you  know." 

Then   Douglas   would  go  to   his   club  and   play  bridge 


402  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

after  luncheon,  until  it  was  time  to  go  home.  Sometimes 
he  would  stay  up  for  the  night  and  go  to  a  play.  And 
once  he  dined  with  the  Browns  in  Berkeley  Square,  filling 
a  place  at  the  last  moment  in  one  of  Mrs.  Brown's  big 
parties.  But  he  had  scarcely  a  word  with  his  host. 

They  were  talking  of  the  Browns  now,  over  the  break- 
fast-table. Kemsale  had  been  shut  up  since  the  beginning 
of  the  year.  Armitage  Brown  had  spent  some  of  his  Sun- 
days there,  sometimes  alone,  sometimes  with  his  brother 
arid  sister-in-law.  Neither  Mrs.  Brown  nor  Katie  nor 
Alfred  had  been  down,  and  there  was  no  immediate 
prospect  of  their  coming.  Rumour  was  rife  as  to  the 
reason. 

"  They're  not  much  good  to  us  after  all,"  said  Douglas. 
"  I  did  think  Alfred  was  going  to  stick  to  the  place." 

"  Grace  thought  so  too,"  said  Beatrix.  "  He  talked  to 
her  about  it  just  before  he  went  away.  I'm  afraid  he's 
rather  a  harum-scarum  creature.  He's  very  nice,  though. 
So  is  poor  little  Katie.  Douglas,  I  wonder  if  it's  true 
about  her  and  Lord  Meadshire." 

"  I'm  pretty  certain  of  it.  Why  should  she  have  been 
hurried  off  like  that,  all  of  a  sudden.  We  know  that 
Mrs.  Brown  hadn't  been  meaning  to  go  for  another  day 
or  two.  And  she  never  came  to  say  good-bye." 

"  She  wrote  though;  and  said  she  hoped  to  see  me 
when  they  came  back  from  the  Riviera.  She  never  has 
come  back." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  she  hasn't.  Mrs.  Brown  said 
she  was  at  Venice  with  Alfred  a  month  ago.  She  wasn't 
inclined  to  be  communicative.  I'm  afraid  the  poor  little 
thing's  in  disgrace.  I  think  it's  a  beastly  shame  of  Mead- 
shire  to  make  up  to  her.  I  suppose  she  got  carried  off 
her  feet.  You  can't  think  that  a  nice  little  thing  like  that, 
and  as  young  as  she  is,  would  really  want  to  marry  a 


THE  SYNDICATE  403 

fellow  like  Meadshire.  However,  I  suppose  she  fancied 
herself  as  a  marchioness,  and " 

"  Oh  no,  Douglas.  I  don't  believe  she'd  care  a  bit 
about  that.  She's  not  like  her  mother." 

"  Well,  her  mother  doesn't  seem  to  have  cared  about 
the  idea.  Or  perhaps  it  was  Armitage  Brown  who  put 
his  foot  down.  He  looked  pretty  glum  after  Mrs.  Brown 
had  whipped  her  off.  So  did  Alfred.  He  hates  Meadshire." 

"  He  did  at  first.  I  don't  think  he  did  after  they  all 
made  friends  together." 

"  He  did  at  the  end.  He  said  so.  I  expect  what  hap- 
pened was  that  he'd  heard  about  his  trying  to  get  hold 
of  Katie.  He  was  very  strong  on  people  being  after 
them  for  the  sake  of  their  money.  Of  course  that's  what 
Meadshire  wanted.  I  don't  blame  Armitage  Brown  for 
turning  him  off  with  a  flea  in  his  ear." 

"  You  don't  know  that  he  did  that." 

"  I  can  guess.  Meadshire  was  furious  with  him,  before 
he  went  off;  and  when  I  mentioned  Meadshire's  name  to 
Brown  he  looked  as  black  as  thunder." 

"  I  do  feel  most  awfully  sorry  for  Grace.  She  thought 
he  was  getting  over  his  bad  habits  at  last,  and  had  settled 
down  quietly  here.  Now  he's  worse  than  ever — drink- 
ing and  spending  money  again ;  and  never  comes  near 
her." 

"Oh,  he's  a  rotter.  Can't  help  it,  poor  fellow.  The 
best  thing  that  could  happen  for  everybody  would  be  for 
him  to  drink  himself  into  his  grave.  He'll  never  be  any 
good  now.  I  wonder  that  he  managed  to  keep  himself 
steady  here  for  so  long.  I  suppose  he  knew  he  wouldn't 
have  a  chance  for  Katie  if  he  didn't." 

"  If  it's  true  that  he  wanted  to  marry  Katie,  I  expect 
he  proposed  to  lirr  on  the  nHit  of  the  Kems.ile  ball.  So 
did  Frank  Clinton  to  Anne  Sheard,  and  young  Davis  to 


404 

Irene  Fuller,  and  there  have  been  difficulties  about  all 
three  proposals." 

Douglas  laughed.  "  Tottie's  rage !  "  he  said.  "  I  can't 
help  laughing  whenever  I  think  of  it.  Of  course  it's  a 
very  good  match  for  Irene.  She's  turned  out  to  be 
much  more  sensible  than  her  mother.  But  poor  Tottie ! 
And  she'd  quite  made  up  her  mind  that  she'd  caught 
Alfred  for  Irene.  Really,  Bee,  if  you  were  to  put  that 
woman " 

"  Into  a  book,  nobody  would  believe  she  could  be  true," 
Beatrix  finished  the  sentence  for  him.  "  That's  one  to 
me,  and  wipes  off  yesterday's." 

"  I  wasn't  going  to  say  that  at  all." 

"  What  were  you  going  to  say?  " 

"  Never  you  mind." 

"  Oh,  you're  not  playing  fair.  But  Tottie  has  come 
round  now.  I  didn't  tell  you;  I  met  her  yesterday,  and 
she  told  me  that  she'd  decided  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad 
job.  She  talked  a  lot  about  Point  Manor;  Points  Farm 
is  going  to  be  dropped  entirely.  And  it  seems  that  the 
Davises  are,  after  all,  a  rather  aristocratic  family.  One 
of  them  married  a  baronet,  about  a  hundred  years  ago  I 
think  it  was,  and  they've  been  '  seated  '  at  Points  Manor 
for  two  hundred  years." 

"She's  a  record,  isn't  she?  Never  disappoints  ex- 
pectation. What  did  she  say  about  the  Browns?  Every- 
body knows  Mrs.  Brown  gives  her  the  cold  shoulder 
now." 

"  Oh,  they  are  hopelessly  vulgar,  in  spite  of  their  money. 
But  I  wasn't  to  say  she  said  so,  for  goodness'  sake.  People 
in  their  position  had  to  serve  people  of  all  sorts,  and  keep 
in  with  them  to  a  certain  extent,  but  for  the  future  she 
thought  that  she  should  let  Herbert  bear  the  brunt  of  it. 
She'd  done  her  best  to  make  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Brown,  and 


THE  SYNDICATE  405 

put  her  up  to  things,  but  she  got  little  thanks  for  it,  and 
she  should  leave  her  to  take  her  own  way  for  the  future, 
and  make  all  the  mistakes  she  was  liable  to." 

"  Bursting  with  spite !  I  wonder  if  she  really  thinks 
she  deceives  a  living  soul  by  talking  like  that.  She's  jolly 
lucky  to  have  the  Browns  at  her  silly  back.  Little  Her- 
bert has  been  treated  remarkably  well.  He  might  quite 
easily  have  been  sacked,  at  his  age,  and  he  wouldn't  have 
got  another  job;  but  he's  making  more  than  he  did  before. 
I  must  say  Armitage  Brown  is  a  generous  fellow  when  he 
likes  anybody;  and  he  doesn't  buck  about  it  either.  I 
bet  you  what  you  like  he  paid  little  Herbert  a  premium 
to  take  young  William  Sheard  into  the  office  and  teach 
him  his  job." 

"  Do  you  think  he  did  ?  I  don't  believe  Mr.  Sheard 
would  have  allowed  that.  He's  very  independent." 

"  He  wouldn't  have  known  anything  about  it.  He 
wouldn't  know  it  was  usual.  He'd  think  that  as  it  was 
Brown's  office  he  had  a  right  to  put  young  William 
into  it." 

"  He  would,  wouldn't  he?" 

"  It  wouldn't  be  usual.  Fuller  has  to  teach  him  his 
work.  He'd  have  a  right  to  a  premium.  Young  William's 
doing  very  well.  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  change  in  a 
fellow?  It's  just  what  he's  suited  for." 

"  All  the  Sheards  are  good  workers.  Isn't  it  funny, 
Douglas,  what  a  success  they've  been?  I  wish  Mr.  Comp- 
ton  would  come  and  pay  us  a  visit,  and  see  how  it  has 
turned  out." 

"  I  shall  write  to  him  directly  it's  fixed  up  between 
Frank  Clinton  and  little  Anne." 

"  If  it  ever  is  fixed  up.  Mr.  Clinton  won't  hear  of  it  .it 
present,  and  he's  an  obstinate  old  gentleman." 

"Oh,   he   won't   hold   out   when   they   show   they're   in 


406  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHAXGETH 

earnest.  There's  nothing  against  the  child.  Frank  doesn't 
want  to  marry  her  family." 

"I  like  her  family;  they're  so  straight  about  things. 
They  never  try  to  disguise  the  fact  that  the  Clintons  are 
higher  up  in  the  world  than  they  are,  or  blame  Mr.  Clinton 
for  objecting." 

"  They  allow  Anne  to  consider  herself  engaged  to  Frank, 
though." 

"  Well,  I  rather  like  that,  too.  Mrs.  Sheard  told  me 
how  they  felt  about  it.  They  think  Anne  is  quite  good 
enough  for  him,  and  they  are  not  going  to  take  a  humble 
line  about  that.  But  they  won't  let  her  marry  him  till 
the  Clintons  think  so  too;  and  say  so.  And  Mrs.  Sheard 
believes  in  long  engagements,  and  thinks  Anne  is  too 
young  to  marry  yet,  anyhow.  The  idea  is  that  they  are 
to  have  a  year's  probation.  So  it  really  doesn't  work  out 
badly.  Mr.  Clinton  ought  to  get  used  to  the  idea  before 
the  year  is  up.  The  rest  of  them  are  on  Frank's  side, 
and  I  expect  they'll  work  it  between  them." 

"  I  know  Lady  Inverell  is.  It  was  rather  nice  of  her 
to  go  over  and  see  the  Sheards.  But  I  doubt  whether 
Dick  Clinton  is,  and  he  has  a  good  deal  to  say  to  things 
over  at  Kencote." 

"  Mrs.  Dick  has  a  great  deal  more  to  say,  in  the  long 
run.  She's  rather  amusing  about  it.  She  says  that  she 
thought  she  had  got  to  the  bottom  of  all  British  prejudices, 
but  this  beats  her  altogether." 

"  Well,  I  can't  see  that  it's  so  unreasonable  as  that. 
Anne  is  a  charming  little  creature,  of  course;  any  man 
might  be  proud  to  have  her  as  his  wife." 

"  That's  just  what  Mrs.  Dick  says." 

"  But  the  Sheards — in  a  way — well,  you  know  what  I 
mean." 

"  Of  course  I  do.     You're  British.     So  am  I,  I  suppose. 


THE  SYNDICATE  407 

But  I  do  see  a  little  what  nonsense  it  all  is;  and  of  course 
to  an  American " 

The  morning  post,  brought  in  at  that  moment,  closed 
the  conversation  for  the  time  being.  There  was  a  letter 
for  Douglas,  directed  in  a  large  firm  hand,  which  he 
opened  first. 

"  Good  business !  "  he  exclaimed,  when  he  had  read  the 
few  lines  it  contained. 

Beatrix  looked  up  from  her  own  reading  to  see  his 
face  radiant  with  satisfaction. 

"  Dear  old  girl !  "  he  said.  "  Our  fortune's  made. 
Armitage  Brown  has  put  it  through.  I'm  to  go  up  and 
see  him  as  soon  as  possible.  I'll  go  to-day.  I  can  catch 
the  eleven  o'clock  train." 

"What  does  he  say?"  asked  Beatrix. 

He  glanced  at  the  letter,  hesitated  a  moment  and  then 
handed  it  across  the  table  to  her. 

"DEAR   IRVING,"  it  ran, 

"  I  have  secured  the  concession  and  arranged  for 
the  consolidation  of  all  the  properties.  I  understood  you 
to  say  that  you  wished  to  take  up  shares  in  the  prelim- 
inary Syndicate  to  the  extent  of  £20,000.  If  you  still  wish 
this  I  shall  want  a  cheque  from  you  within  a  week  from 
to-day,  but  I  should  like  to  know  your  decision  at  once,  as 
there  are  others  anxious  to  come  in.  Before  deciding  you 
had  better  come  up  here  to  have  full  details. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  ARMITAGE    BROWN." 

"  Oh,  but  Douglas !  Surely  you  are  not  going  to  risk 
twenty  thousand  pounds!  Why,  it  is  more  than  half 
that  we  have." 

He  had  known  that  the  protest  would  come,  but  felt 


408  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

irritation  at  it  none  the  less,  which,  however,  he  succeeded 
in  keeping  under. 

"  My  dear  girl,  I  don't  know  all  the  details  of  the 
business,  but  I  know  enough  to  say  that  it's  an  absolute 
certainty.  It  is  one  of  the  biggest  thingjs  Armitage  Brown 
has  ever  taken  in  hand;  and  as  far  as  his  work  is  con- 
cerned he  has  finished  it.  What  it  comes  to  is  that  he 
has  bought  something  that  he  can  sell  again  for  anything 
up  to  ten  times  its  value." 

"  But  you  can't  possibly  be  certain  of  that,  Douglas !  " 

She  was  greatly  distressed.  She  had  had  no  idea  that 
he  had  been  meaning  to  risk  a  very  large  sum  of  money 
in  what  looked  to  her  like  nothing  but  speculation,  and 
said  so,  while  he  felt  more  and  more  impatient  with  her, 
but  still  carefully  refrained  from  showing  it. 

"  Well,  dear,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  it's  natural  that  you 
should  think  of  it  like  that.  And  if  I  were  to  put  in  this 
money,  or  any  money,  into  the  company  that  will  be  formed 
when  these  preliminaries  are  put  through,  it  would  be  a 
speculation,  though  a  good  one,  I  believe.  But  this  really 
isn't.  What  do  you  think  Armitage  Brown  is  putting  in 
himself?  " 

"  Oh,   I  don't  know.     But " 

"  Half  a  million.  Five  hundred  thousand  pounds ;  and 
he's  the  cleverest  financier  in  London,  perhaps  in  the 
world.  Honestly,  Bee,  it's  a  real  kindness  on  his  part  to 
let  me  go  in  with  him  at  this  stage.  He  wasn't  a  bit 
keen  that  I  should.  Good  heavens !  why,  there  are  people 
tumbling  over  one  another  to  get  the  chance  that  he's 
giving  me.  He  only  did  it  because  he  thought  he  owed 
me  a  good  turn  for  looking  after  things  here.  I  said  I 
wouldn't  take  a  salary  from  him,  but  he  could  put  me  in 
the  next  big  thing  he  took  up." 

"  Why  didn't  he  want  you  to  go  in  with  him?  " 


THE  SYNDICATE  409 

"  He  said  he  didn't  like  to  mix  up  business  with  friend- 
ship." 

"  Then  he  must  have  thought  there  was  some  risk." 

"  I'll  tell  you  exactly  what  he  said.  I  don't  want  to  hide 
anything  from  you,  my  dear,  and  I  suppose  it's  natural 
that  you  should  think  one  risks  money  when  one  invests 
a  great  lump  of  it  at  once." 

"  Let's  talk  about  it  in  the  garden,"  she  said.  "  I  must 
just  go  up  to  the  children,  but  I'll  come  down  again  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour." 

He  saw  that  he  should  have  to  convince  her  fully,  if  he 
were  to  be  able  to  go  up  to  London  later  on  with  a  clear 
mind.  He  thought  over  how  he  could  put  it  very  carefully, 
for  he  was  absolutely  convinced  himself. 

What  Armitage  Brown  had  said  to  him  in  answer  to 
the  request  he  had  mentioned  was:  "  I  don't  usually  do 
that  sort  of  thing,  because  if  I  want  money  for  anything 
now  I  can  always  get  it  without  any  difficulty,  and  if  any-  ' 
thing  goes  wrong  afterwards  I'm  not  bothered  by  thinking 
I've  let  in  my  friends.  But  I  have  something  coming  on 
that  seems  to  me  to  have  practically  no  risk  whatever  if 
I  can  get  it  up  to  a  certain  point,  and  if  you  like  to  chance 
a  thousand  or  so  I'll  make  an  exception  for  once,  as  you 
have  been  very  good  about  lots  of  things  down  here." 

There  had  followed  certain  explanations,  but  actually 
until  this  very  day  Douglas  had  never  been  told  more  than 
that  it  was  a  question  of  securing  a  concession  from  a 
foreign  power,  and  buying  up  scattered  properties  of  great 
value,  for  which  a  large  sum  of  money  would  be  required, 
but  which  could  be  put  on  to  the  market  for  an  enormously 
large  sum.  He  was  given  to  understand  that  the  difficulties 
lay  in  the  securing  of  the  concession,  and  in  getting  all  the 
properties  together.  When  this  had  been  done  practically 
everything  would  have  been  done.  There  would  be  some 


410  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

technical  work  to  do  which  would  take  a  few  months,  and 
then  the  members  of  the  original  Syndicate  would  receive 
their  enormous  profits.  Bradgate  knew  a  little  more,  but 
Bradgate  was  forbidden  to  open  his  mouth  about  what  he 
knew,  even  to  Douglas.  All  that  he  had  been  able  to  tell 
him  during  his  visits  to  London  was  that  details  were  being 
gradually  overcome,  and  their  talk  had  been  chiefly  of  the 
companies  that  were  to  be  formed  later,  and  the  profits  that 
were  likely  to  be  made  by  the  members  of  the  Syndicate. 

Douglas  felt  that  this  wanted  a  great  deal  of  explain- 
ing, and  he  realised,  as  he  thought  it  all  over,  that  Brad- 
gate,  his  particular  friend,  had  been  rather  adroit  with  him, 
in  keeping  back  so  much,  while  being  so  ready  to  talk. 
At  the  same  time  he  had  never  said  anything  to  dissuade 
Douglas  from  taking  his  chance,  and  he  had  always  advised 
him  about  his  business  affairs,  and  done  well  for  him.  That 
would  be  a  point.  Beatrix  knew  how  careful  old  Bill  was. 

When  Douglas  had  mentioned  the  sum  that  he  wanted 
to  use,  Armitage  Brown  had  demurred  to  it.  It  was  then 
that  he  had  let  out  what  interest  he  was  prepared  to  take 
himself.  "  I  wouldn't  risk  a  sum  like  that,"  he  had  said, 
"  unless  I  was  pretty  certain  of  getting  it  back,  with  a  good 
deal  more  besides.  But  if  I  were  to  lose  even  as  large  a 
sum  as  that  it  wouldn't  make  a  poor  man  of  me,  and  I 
should  make  it  up  later.  I  don't  want  to  pry  into  your 
affairs,  but  can  you  say  the  same  of  what  you  want  to  risk? 
For  I'm  not  going  to  say  there's  no  risk  in  any  business 
proposition,  though  I  shouldn't  let  you  go  into  this  one  at 
all  if  I  could  see  any." 

That  had  been  enough  for  Douglas  and  he  had  given 
the  required  assurance;  but  this  was  a  point  in  the  conver- 
sation that  he  did  not  propose  to  tell  Beatrix.  It  would 
give  her  a  wrong  impression.  Armitage  Brown  had,  of 
course,  felt  obliged  to  give  him  a  conventional  warning. 


THE  SYNDICATE  411 

That  it  was  merely  conventional  was  proved  by  the  way 
he  had  taken  Douglas's  reply.  "  Very  well,"  he  had  said 
indiffeltently.  "  Nobody  else  will  come  in  under  twenty 
thousand.  It  will  make  it  easier.  I  should  have  let  you 
have  some  of  my  own  shares  if  you  had  only  wanted  a  thou- 
sand or  so,  as  I  thought,  and  I  don't  particularly  want  to 
part  with  any  of  them."  Beatrix  could  be  told  that.  She 
would  only  misunderstand  the  preliminary  warning. 

It  practically  rested  entirely  upon  Armitage  Brown's 
honesty,  and  really  there  couldn't  be  any  question  of  that. 
It  didn't  even  rest  on  his  capacity,  because  if  he  did  not 
succeed  in  bringing  off  his  coup,  no  money  would  pass.  He 
was  bearing  all  the  preliminary  expenses,  which  would  be 
by  no  means  light,  himself.  Surely  Beatrix  would  admit 
that  Armitage  Brown  was  absolutely  to  be  trusted. 

"She  did  admit  it.  But  Douglas,  after  all,  did  not  feel 
that  he  was  justified  in  holding  back  from  her  that  word 
of  warning,  and  naturally  that  loomed  larger  than  anything 
with  her. 

She  cried — amongst  her  roses.  "  We've  been  so  happy 
here,"  she  said,  "  and  you  have  said  again  and  again  that 
nobody  could  want  more  than  we  have,  Douglas.  Why  risk 
it  all,  even  in  the  slightest  degree?  " 

It  appeared  that  he  had  only  said  that  nobody  could  want 
more  than  they  had  when  there  seemed  to  be  no  chance 
of  getting  any  more.  There  were  lots  of  things  that  they 
could  spend  a  great  deal  more  money  on,  if  they  had  it — 
a  house  in  town,  for  one  thing;  a  country  house,  not  perhaps 
larger  than  Little  Kemsale,  but  belonging  to  them  instead 
of  rented,  with  land  going  with  it;  perhaps  a  villa  in  tin- 
south  of  France,  or  a  moor  in  Scotland — oh,  lots  of  things ! 
Not  worth  risking  Little  Kemsale  for,  of  course ;  "  but  on 
anything  you  like  to  swear  me  by,  Bee,  I'm  not  risking 
anything.  It  really  is  so,  if  you  could  only  see  it." 


412  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

She  gave  way  at  last.  He  promised  to  ask  Bradgate 
fairly  and  squarely  if  he  thought  he  was  justified  in  risking 
so  large  a  part  of  his  capital.  If  Bradgate  said  no,  he  was 
to  cut  down  his  risk  to  five  thousand  pounds ;  they  haggled 
about  the  precise  sum  for  some  time,  but  Douglas  said  that 
it  was  absurd  to  make  a  mere  word  of  Bill's  outweigh  all 
his  own  convictions. 

What  Bradgate  did  say,  when  the  question  was  put  to 
him,  not  quite  in  the  form  suggested  by  Beatrix,  was :  "  I'm 
not  going  to  take  any  responsibility  for  it,  Duggy.  As  far 
as  one  can  humanly  see,  the  risk  isn't  there.  The  thing 
is  done  when  the  papers  are  signed  and  the  money  is  paid 
over.  All  we  have  to  do  then  is  to  sell  to  the  public,  and 
that  there'll  be  no  difficulty  about  whatever.  At  the  same 
time,  I'm  with  our  friend  Armitage.  I  don't  personally  put 
more  money  into  anything  than  I  can  afford  to  lose." 

"  But  you're  putting  a  lot  more  into  this  than  you  want 
to  lose." 

"  If  I  did  lose  it,  it  would  give  me  a  nasty  knock,  and 
we  should  have  to  lie  low  for  some  time,  the  missus  and  I. 
But  we  should  have  enough  left,  and  I  should  make  it  up 
again.  You  wouldn't  have  enough  left,  and  you  couldn't 
make  it  up." 

His  last  words  were:  "  I'm  not  going  to  advise  you  to 
do  it,  because  if  you  did  lose  your  money,  I  should  feel 
I'd  been  partly  responsible.  And  I'm  not  going  to  advise 
you  not  to  do  it,  because  if  it  comes  off,  as  I  believe  it  will, 
you'd  never  forgive  me.  You  must  make  up  your  own 
mind." 

So  Douglas  made  up  his  mind,  and  instructed  Bradgate 
to  sell  out  securities  to  the  extent  of  twenty  thousand  pounds. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 
THE   END    OF   A   DREAM 

ALFRED  was  closeted  with  his  father  in  Armitage  Brown's 
business  room  at  Kemsale.  It  was  raid-July,  but  the  rain 
was  pouring  down  outside,  and  there  was  no  relief  to  the 
spirit  anywhere:  certainly  none  in  the  room  itself,  which  had 
taken  on  more  than  ever  the  appearance  of  an  office. 

Nor  was  there  any  in  the  hard  bearing  of  the  millionaire, 
who  had  not  seen  his  son  for  six  or  seven  months  until 
the  evening  before,  and  was  now  delivering  to  him  an 
ultimatum. 

"  My  patience  is  at  an  end,"  he  was  saying.  "  You've 
had  your  fling,  and  now  you've  got  to  settle  down  to  do 
what  I  tell  you.  I'm  very  disappointed  with  you.  When 
we  talked  it  all  over  last  year  I  put  it  to  you  in  such  a  way 
that  I  thought  you  would  take  up  your  life  here  so  that  we 
might  have  more  in  common  than  we've  had  before.  I 
thought  you  were  ready  to  do  that,  partly  out  of  affection 
to  me,  partly  because  you'd  come  to  see  what  a  good  thing 
I  was  offering  you.  But  all  you  do  is  to  rush  away  from 
the  place  without  a  word,  and  stay  away  for  seven  months. 
I  don't  know  how  much  longer  you'd  have  stayed  away  if  I 
ladn't  insisted  upon  your  coming  home.  I'm  not  going  to 
?ut  up  with  that  treatment  any  longer." 

"  Oh.  well,  father,  you  know  why  I  cleared  out.  I  really 
v/nildn't  put  up  with  living  in  the  same  place  as  that  fellow, 
after  what  had  happened." 

"  If  yon  mean  Lord  Meadshire,  that  had  nothing  to  do 
with  you  at  all.  I  was  quite  prepared  to  deal  with  him, 

413 


414  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

and  did  so.  Besides,  he  went  away  himself  within  a  week, 
and  hasn't  been  back  since.  You're  talking  nonsense.  We 
got  on  very  well  here  when  we  first  came,  and  there  was 
definite  hostility  between  him  and  us  for  some  time.  I  don't 
want  to  have  anything  more  to  do  with  him,  but  I'm  certainly 
not  going  to  let  him  drive  us  out  of  the  place.  But  I'm 
not  going  to  argue  about  it.  I've  treated  you  as  a  man  of 
sense,  and  that  treatment  has  failed.  You  haven't  shown 
sense  or  duty  or  affection  or  anything  else  that  you  ought 
to  have  shown.  You've  just  gone  off  and  amused  yourself, 
on  money  I've  supplied  you  with.  Now  you  have  to  do  what 
I  tell  you." 

Alfred's  father  had  not  spoken  to  him  like  this  since  his 
boyhood,  and  very  seldom  then.  He  did  not  like  it,  but 
felt  no  resentment  against  him,  nor  any  sense  of  fear.  He 
did  feel,  however,  in  spite  of  his  twenty-six  years,  that  he 
would  have  to  do  what  he  was  told. 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry  you're  not  pleased  with  me,"  he  said. 
"  But  I  haven't  really  lost  sight  of  all  you  said  last  year. 
I've  been  thinking  about  it  ever  since.  Can't  you  take  my 
absence  as  a  last  good  long  holiday  before  I  have  to  settle 
down  to  the  serious  business  of  life?  " 

Armitage  Brown  was  rather  taken  aback  by  the  free 
amiability  of  this  speech.  His  annoyance  against  his  son 
had  been  growing  ever  since  his  absence  had  begun  to 
lengthen  itself  beyond  all  reasonable  limits.  He  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  have  no  more  nonsense,  and  was  ready  to 
deal  with  Alfred  as  he  had  occasionally  dealt  with  an  unsat- 
isfactory subordinate,  shortly  and  sharply.  After  a  time,  if 
he  behaved  well,  he  would  take  him  into  favour  again,  but 
at  first  he  would  be  kept  strictly  up  to  the  collar. 

But  subordinates  under  rebuke  had  not  been  wont  to 
treat  matters  in  this  way,  and  he  did  not  quite  know  how 
to  take  it.  Also  he  was  fond  of  his  son,  and  already  softened 


THE  END  OF  A  DREAM  415 

by  the  news  that  he  had  not  simply  ignored  all  that  had 
been  said  to  him. 

"  I  can't  understand  you,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  believe 
there's  another  young  fellow  in  England  who  would  want 
to  run  away  from  what  I'm  offering  you.  One  of  the 
finest  houses  in  the  country,  with  everything  in  and  about 
it  to  amuse  yourself  with,  in  a  healthy  sort  of  way,  oppor- 
tunities for  seeing  all  the  friends  you  want  here,  plenty 
of  nice  people  all  round  you,  a  fine  estate — and  all  you're 
asked  to  do  is  to  spend  the  greater  part  of  your  time  here 
and  look  after  it  all." 

"  Oh,  I  know,  father.  I  suppose  I  am  a  bit  of  a  freak. 
It's  not  my  line  in  life,  but  I  suppose  I  can  make  it  so,  if 
I  take  pains  about  it.  What  is  it  you  want  me  to  do 
exactly  ?  " 

Armitage  Brown  stiffened  himself.  He  had  laid  down 
in  his  mind  a  course  for  his  son  to  pursue.  That  should 
be  kept  to,  for  a  time  at  any  rate.  Concessions  might  be 
made  later.  "  I  want  you,  first  of  all,  to  go  into  the  estate 
office  for  a  year.  I  shall  article  you  to  Fuller  in  the  ordinary 
way,  and  you'll  work  at  it  just  as  if  you  were  any  other 
young  man  learning  estate  agency.  You  can  take  regular 
holidays — not  more  than  three  in  the  year,  and  not  more 
than  six  weeks  in  all." 

"  All  right,"  said  Alfred  resignedly.  "  If  I'm  to  do  it  at 
all,  I  may  as  well  do  it  thoroughly.  I  suppose  I  shan't 
have  to  stick  in  the  office  all  day,  as  I  did  in  Lombard 
Street." 

"  You'll  have  to  do  what  Fuller  tells  you.  As  you  have 
mentioned  Lombard  Street,  I  should  like  to  say  this.  Win  n 
you  were  in  my  office  you  did  what  you  were  given  to  do, 
but  you  took  no  interest  in  it  whatever.  When  you  left, 
you  knew  no  more  what  all  your  work  tended  to  than  you 
did  when  you  came.  You  didn't  work  intelligently.  Now 


416  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

you're  four  years  older,  and  I  hope  you'll  be  ashamed 
to  treat  your  work  in  that  way.  You'll  go  there  for  a 
definite  object,  and  you  must  keep  that  object  before  you." 

"I'll  try  to.    What  is  it?" 

"  Are  you  trying  to  annoy  me;  or  do  you  really  mean 
that  you  don't  know  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  I  have  my  own  ideas,  but  I  should  like  to  be  sure 
of  what  yours  are." 

"  I've  already  told  you.  If  you  want  it  again,  put  into 
a  few  words,  what  you  have  to  do  is  to  fit  yourself  to  run 
this  place,  as  an  enlightened  landowner  ought  to  run  his 
property.  You  have  to  take  your  place  in  this  part  of  the 
country  as  the  owner  of  Kemsale  ought  to  take  it.  Live 
like  your  neighbors  do,  and,  if  you  can,  take  to  the  same 
pursuits.  I  don't  want  you  to  hunt  and  shoot  just  for  the 
sake  of  doing  it,  if  you  don't  care  about  it,  but  because 
it  will  bring  you  into  the  right  relations  with  them,  and 
they're  both  healthy  amusements  that  I  expect  you  can  take 
to  with  a  good  deal  more  pleasure  than  you  pretend.  The 
fact  is,  Alfred,  you've  been  keeping  up  a  pose,  and  you're 
old  enough  to  drop  it  now.  You're  not  a  great  artist  or  a 
great  anything;  you're  just  an  ordinary  young  man,  quite 
fitted  to  lead  the  life  of  other  ordinary  young  men  in  your 
position.  For  goodness'  sake  drop  your  nonsense  once  for 
all  and  behave  like  the  rest." 

"  It's  an  awful  outlook,"  said  Alfred.  "  But  I'll  do 
my  best." 

"  Get  Irving  to  teach  you  what  he  can  about  game-pre- 
serving, and  managing  the  shooting.  I  shall  expect  you  to 
take  that  over  next  season.  It's  absurd  to  pay  all  the 
money  I  do  to  preserve  game  and  hand  it  over  to  somebody 
else.  I  might  just  as  well  let  it;  but  of  course  I'm  not 
going  to  do  that.  Shooting  parties  are  a  very  good  way  of 
getting  people  together  in  the  country.  I  enjoy  them  myself, 


THE  END  OF  A  DREAM  417 

though  I  don't  shoot.  I  didn't  mean  to  say  anything  about 
my  part  in  the  whole  business,  Alfred,  as  I've  said  it 
already,  but  it  does  seem  to  me  that  you  might  do  something 
of  your  own  free  will  to  make  this  place  an  attraction  and  a 
recreation  to  me.  I  work  very  hard;  I'm  too  old  now  to 
do  without  my  work,  and  give  myself  up  to  an  easy  life 
down  here.  I  haven't  fitted  myself  for  it.  But  I  could 
enjoy  the  place  if  you  would  only  do  your  part  in  con- 
nection with  it." 

"  Oh,  I'm  going  to,  father.  I've  made  up  my  mind  about 
it.  I'm  going  to  begin  a  new  life  altogether." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  really  mean  it.  I  think  the  life 
will  be  pleasant  enough  for  you,  and  you'll  come  to  enjoy 
it.  You  ought  to.  If  you  do  your  duty  by  me  and  by 
the  place,  I  hope  to  have  a  good  many  years  yet  in  which 
to  enjoy  it  myself.  I  should  like  to  see  you  married  before 
very  long.  There's  no  hurry  for  that,  but " 

"  Well,  if  I'm  going  to  settle  down  here  for  life,  and 
become  the  right  sort  of  country  squire,  I  think  the  sooner 
I  get  married  the  better." 

His  father  stared  at  him.  "  Do  you  mean  that  there  is 
some  one  you  want  to  marry?  "  he  asked. 

"  I've  been  thinking  about  it  ever  since  I  was  here  last. 
I  shouldn't  have  said  anything  to  you  about  it  before  trying 
my  luck,  but  for  what  happened  with  Meadshire  and 
Katie.  But  if  you  approve  I'm  going  to  ask  Grace  Ettien  to 
marry  me." 

"  Grace  Ettien !  "  Armitage  Brown  looked  thunderstruck. 
"What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about?  Are  you  trying 
to  play  with  me  ?  " 

"  No,  I  mean  it.  There's  no  contact  in  my  mind  with 
Kemsale — at  least  as  regards  the  life  you  want  me  to  take 
up  here — except  through  her.  Otherwise,  it's  just  a  great 
overgrown  place  in  which  we  spend  a  vast  amount  of  money 


418  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

and  get  very  little  in  return;  almost  nothing  that  /  care 
about.  It's  just  a  heavy  burden.  But  ever  since  I  first  came 
here,  I've  felt  that  there  was  another  side  to  it,  and  it  has 
always  been  represented  to  me  by  her.  If  she'll  marry  me,  I 
can  go  into  it  all  with  some  chance  of  settling  down  to  it 
happily,  and  taking  the  sort  of  place  you  want  me  to  take 
here.  If  I've  got  to  do  it  all  off  my  own  bat,  well,  I'll  do 
my  best,  but  I  shall  never  feel  that  I'm  in  my  right 
place." 

Armitage  Brown  was  simply  bewildered  by  this.  "  Are 
you  in  love  with  Lady  Grace  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  like  her  better  than  any  woman  I  know.  I  should 
be  very  glad  if  she  said  she'd  marry  me.  It  would  make 
all  the  difference  to  me,  settling  down  here  for  good." 

"  She's  years  older  than  you  are." 

"  Five  years  older.    That's  nothing." 

"  Have  you  any  idea  as  to  whether  she " 

"  As  to  whether  she'd  have  me  ?  No,  I  should  think  it's 
quite  likely  that  she  wouldn't.  But  I  should  like  to 
ask  her." 

"  It's  a  new  idea  to  me  altogether,"  said  his  father,  after 
a  puzzled  pause.  "  I  can't  understand  what  you're  really 
thinking  about.  Of  course,  she's  a  very  charming  woman, 
different  altogether  from  her  brother.  There  might  be  diffi- 
culty there,  though,  if  you're  really  serious  about  this.  But 
somehow  I  can't  think  you  are,  Alfred.  I  wish  you'd  tell 
me  what's  in  your  mind  about  it.  It  isn't  a  subject  to  treat 
lightly." 

"  I've  tried  to  tell  you  what's  in  my  mind,  father,  as 
far  as  I  know  myself.  I've  thought  about  it  ever  since 
I  went  away  from  here  after  Christmas.  I  had  a  talk  with 
her,  just  before  that;  it  was  on  the  same  afternoon  that 
Meadshire  spoke  to  Katie.  She  understands  all  about  Kem- 
sale,  and  what's  wanted  here;  she's  part  of  it — has  been 


THE  END  OF  A  DREAM  419 

all  her  life.  With  her  as  my  wife,  I  could  do  exactly  what 
you  want  rue  to  do,  and  take  a  pride  and  pleasure  in  it." 

Armitage  Brown  sat  at  his  desk  looking  down  upon  his 
blotting  paper,  still  with  the  same  puzzled  frown  upon  his 
face.  "  Well,  it  isn't  for  me  to  settle,"  he  said.  "  If  you're 
in  earnest  about  it,  I  shan't  say  no.  It  seems  to  me  odd. 
It  wouldn't  be  at  all  the  sort  of  marriage  I  had  thought  of 
for  you.  But  I  don't  know  that  it  would  be  any  the  worse 
for  that.  You'd  better  think  it  over  very  carefully  before 
you  do  anything.  She  seems  much  more  than  five  years 
older  than  you.  You  don't  seem  to  be  in  love  with  her,  by 
the  way  you  talk,  and  it's  a  dangerous  thing  for  a  young 
man  to  marry  a  woman  he  isn't  actually  in  love  with.  Still, 
you're  old  enough  to  know  what  you  want  now.  If  you  do 
want  this,  and  Lady  Grace  wants  it  too,  I  shan't  stand  in 
your  way.  That's  all  I  can  say  at  present.  Except  that 
I  won't  have  her  brother  in  this  house.  He's  done  a  cruel 
thing  upsetting  poor  little  Katie.  She  pretends  to  have  got 
over  it,  but  it's  plain  to  see  that  she  hasn't.  I  wish  I'd  had 
my  eyes  open  to  what  was  going  on.  When  you  do  see  Lady 
Grace,  I  wish  you  would  talk  to  her  about  that  I  should 
like  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  it." 

Alfred  went  to  the  Herons'  Nest  that  afternoon.  He  was 
in  a  curious  exalted  mood  as  he  walked  there.  He  had 
not  answered  his  father's  challenge  as  to  whether  he  was 
in  love  with  Grace.  His  feelings  towards  her  had  small 
resemblance  to  the  feelings  that  he  had  once  or  twice  in 
his  life  experienced  towards  certain  attractive  young  damsels 
with  whom  he  had  been  thrown  in  contact ;  but  he  regarded 
it  as  all  the  more  likely  to  be  the  real  thing  on  that  account. 
For  it  was  touched  with  emotion.  She  did  stand  for  some- 
thing that  was  desirable  to  him— a  unity  of  life,  and  a 
purpose,  which  he  seemed  incapable  of  realising  by  himself. 
He  was  convinced  that,  with  her,  the  life  that  his  father 


420  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

desired  him  to  live  at  Kemsale  would  satisfy  him,  and  satisfy 
him  in  a  way  that  his  present  life  had  ceased  to  do.  Her 
companionship  would  be  sweet  to  him ;  they  would  have  very 
much  in  common;  he  would  be  proud  of  her  as  his  life; 
their  days  would  pass  in  a  quiet  happiness  that  seemed  to 
him  to  promise  just  that  permanence  and  security  that 
married  life  ought  to  hold.  Since  he  had  seen  her  last 
he  had  thought  of  her  constantly,  and  wished  to  see  her 
again. 

And  yet,  when  he  found  himself  in  her  presence,  he  was 
conscious,  not  of  elation,  but  of  a  feeling  more  like  cow- 
ardice. 

She  looked  pale  and  sad,  and  hardly  smiled  as  she  greeted 
him.  When  he  had  told  her  that  he  had  come  down  to 
Kemsale  the  evening  before,  she  asked  at  once  whether 
Katie  was  there,  and  he  said  that  she  had  come  down 
with  her  mother  on  the  day  before  he  had. 

"  She  hasn't  been  to  see  me,"  she  said.  "  Isn't  she 
coming?  " 

The  question  put  him  to  constraint.  Katie  had  not 
mentioned  Grace's  name  to  him  for  months  past.  She  had 
wrapped  herself  in  complete  silence  about  what  had  hap- 
pened to  her.  It  was  understood  that  it  was  not  to  be 
touched  upon  between  them.  He  had  no  idea  of  how  she 
stood  towards  Grace,  or  indeed  of  how  she  stood  towards 
Grace's  brother,  who  had  asked  for  her  in  marriage. 

Grace  did  not  press  him  for  an  answer,  when  she  saw 
that  he  hesitated.  "  I  suppose  you  know,"  she  said  quietly, 
"  that  my  brother  went  away  directly  after  your  father 
treated  him  so  badly,  and  has  not  been  here  since." 

It  was  like  taking  a  plunge  into  very  cold  water.  He 
had  never  thought  for  a  moment  that  she  would  speak 
of  this  at  all,  still  less  she  would  speak  of  it  in  that  way. 

"  I  heard  that  he  had  gone  away,"  he  said  awkwardly; 


THE  END  OF  A  DREAM  421 

and  then  more  gently :  "  But  I  don't  think  my  father  be- 
haved badly  towards  him." 

"  If  he  had  known  what  he  was  doing,"  she  said,  as  if 
she  had  not  heard  him,  "  I  think  he  would  not  have 
behaved  as  he  did.  Poor  Kem  was  getting  over  his  troubles. 
For  a  year,  with  one  short  lapse,  he  had  been  a  new  man 
altogether.  Katie  had  very  much  to  do  with  it.  With  her 
he  would  have  conquered  his  old  self  altogether;  I  feel 
sure  of  it.  So  did  she,  the  dear  girl,  when  she  promised 
to  marry  him.  He  was  full  of  gratitude  and  affection  for 
her.  He  was  strong  and  resolute,  and  happy  in  a  way  I 
have  never  seen  him  before.  Humble  too,  about  himself, 
but  with  the  right  kind  of  humility.  Oh,  it  was  a  wicked 
thing  to  treat  him  as  your  father  did.  He  pushed  him 
over  the  brink — pushed  him  to  his  ruin.  It  is  all  over 
with  him  now.  I've  lost  my  brother.  I  shall  never  have 
him  with  me  whole  and  sane  again." 

She  burst  into  tears.  It  was  as  if  she  had  been  saving 
herself  until  she  could  bring  her  indictment,  and  not  till 
now  had  lost  control  over  herself. 

Alfred  felt  horribly  uncomfortable.  The  feelings  to- 
wards her  which  he  had  nurtured  for  so  long  crumpled 
up  and  disappeared.  He  was  not  touched  to  sympathy 
or  tenderness  by  her  tears,  as  he  would  have  been  if  his 
sentiment  for  her  had  been  based  upon  a  genuine  love,  of 
whatever  quality.  He  was  simply  distressed  at  finding 
himself  plunged  into  a  scene  with  a  woman.  And  he  was 
against  her  in  what  she  had  said,  and  was  bound  to  combat 
it.  But,  of  course,  he  would  do  so  gently,  so  as  not  to  dis- 
turb her  still  further. 

"  None  of  us  thought  that  it  would  be  a  suitable  mar- 
riage," he  said;  "and  my  father  felt  strongly  that,  under 
all  the  circumstances,  Meadshirc  ought  not  to  have  made 
love  to  Katie  before  asking  for  permission." 


422 

"  Made  love  to  her !  "  she  echoed.  "  Oh,  how  you  mis- 
understand everything!  Dear  Katie  didn't  misunderstand 
it.  She  knew  everything  that  she  was  doing,  and  would 
have  been  happy  in  doing  it,  for  the  rest  of  her  life.  Is 
she  happy  now?  Will  you  tell  me  that?  " 

"  No,  she  isn't,"  he  said,  with  the  risings  of  indignation 
in  him,  but  keeping  a  level  voice.  "  It  has  upset  her 
altogether.  She  is  a  different  creature.  If  she  weren't  so 
young,  I  should  say  that  it  had  spoilt  her  life  for  her. 
If  you  can  see  our  side  of  the  question  at  all,  I  think 
you  ought  to  be  able  to  forgive  my  father  for  anything 
harsh  he  may  have  said  over  what  brought  that  upon  us." 

"  And  I  suppose  his  view,  and  your  view,  is  that  my 
brother  so  worked  upon  her  that  she  hardly  knew  what 
she  was  doing;  and  that  it  was  a  righteous  act  to  save 
her  from  his  clutches,  for  which  she  would  be  grateful 
to  you  when  she  came  to  her  senses." 

It  was  exactly  what  they  had  thought,  but  he  did  not 
feel  inclined  to  acknowledge  it  in  face  of  the  contemptuous 
tone  in  which  she  spoke.  He  was  feeling  more  and  more 
uncomfortable  in  her  presence,  and  even  hostile  towards 
her.  He  had  never  thought  of  her  as  possessing  the  qual- 
ities which  she  was  showing  now.  She  was  gentle  and 
sweet  and  quiet,  and  would  always  be  so,  under  whatever 
provocation,  he  had  thought.  But  this  was  not  the  woman 
whose  image  he  had  cherished  in  a  corner  of  his  heart. 

"Does  it  look  like  that  now?"  she  went  on.  "Is  she 
grateful  to  you?  Has  she  acknowledged  that  she  made  a 
great  mistake?  If  a  girl  is  saved  from  the  sort  of  man 
you  think  my  brother  is,  would  you  expect  to  say  of  her 
six  months  later  that  it  has  seemed  to  have  spoilt  her 
life?" 

A  glimmering  of  doubt  came  to  him.  He  was  so  con- 
stituted that  the  other  side  of  a  question  was  bound  to 


THE  END  OF  A  DREAM  423 

have  weight  with  him.  But  hitherto  he  had  thought  that 
there  was  no  other  side  to  this  question. 

But  as  he  was  gathering  his  thoughts  together  to  reply 
to  her,  his  ordeal  came  suddenly  to  an  end.  "  I  won't  talk 
about  it  any  more,"  she  said,  in  a  quieter  voice.  "  She 
might  have  saved  him;  she  would  have  saved  him;  and 
he  would  have  made  her  happy.  Now  it  is  too  late.  When 
I  see  Katie,  as  I  hope  I  shall  soon — tell  her  that  I  want 
to  see  her — I  will  do  what  I  can  to.  help  her  out  of  her 
trouble.  We  shall  be  sisters,  always,  she  and  I.  And  as 
we  all  have  to  live  our  lives  here,  close  together,  I  hope 
we  shall  none  of  us  feel  enmity  towards  one  another.  I 
shall  never  talk  of  this  again  to  you;  nor  to  your  father 
when  I  see  him." 

This  was  once  more  the  Grace  whom  he  knew,  and  some- 
thing of  sweetness  and  serenity  had  returned  to  her  face 
as  she  spoke. 

"  If  we  are  never  going  to  speak  of  it  again,"  he  said, 
"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  why  you  look  upon  it  so 
differently  from  what  we  do — from  what,  I  think  one  might 
say,  nearly  everybody  would  be  likely  to." 

"  I  think  I  will  say  no  more  about  it,"  she  said,  after 
a  pause.  "  It  is  over  and  done  with.  If  your  father 
were  to  withdraw  his  opposition,  it  would  make  no  differ- 
ence now.  But  yes,  I  will  just  say  one  thing,  which  you 
may  think  over,  if  you  like.  You  talked  of  my  brother 
making  love  to  Katie.  You  must  believe  me  when  I  tell 
you  that  he  had  never  done  that.  There  are  many  kinds 
of  love,  and  the  love  that  there  was  between  them  was  of 
the  highest  kind,  short  of  the  love  one  owes  to  God.  It 
would  have  healed  him,  and  it  would  have  given  her  a 
very  noble  kind  of  happiness  and  satisfaction  in  life.  You 
know,  women  don't  demand  that  life  shall  be  made  i-nsy 
for  them,  as  men  do.  They  can  find  the  best  that  is  in 


424  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

them  through  sacrifice.  I  hope  that  dear  little  Katie  will 
get  her  happiness  back  in  time,  and  that  she  will  marry  and 
have  children  to  spend  herself  on.  But  she  was  ready  to 
rise  to  great  heights.  Whatever  she  does  she  will  tread  a 
lower  path  now." 

He  was  chilled  by  this.  He  did  not  think  that  his 
sister  would  have  risen  to  great  heights  in  marrying  a 
drunkard  and  a  waster,  even  if  she  should  succeed  in 
making  him  drink  and  waste  less,  or  not  at  all.  He  had 
his  facile  perceptions,  and  an  idealism  that  had  its  prac- 
tical results  on  his  own  conduct,  but  they  did  not  lead  him 
to  look  upon  self-sacrifice  as  anything  but  a  means  to  an 
end,  and  the  end  here  seemed  worth  so  little. 

They  sat  for  a  time  in  silence,  and  then  talked  of  other 
things.  He  told  Grace  that  the  fiat  had  gone  forth  that 
he  should  settle  down  at  Kemsale,  and  turn  himself  into 
as  near  an  approach  as  he  could  to  the  average  country 
gentleman.  He  was  rather  amusing  about  himself,  and 
she  was  able  to  treat  the  subject  lightly,  though  not  with- 
out some  effort.  They  parted  half  an  hour  later,  quite  good 
friends. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
THE  WAR 

THE  month  of  July  wore  itself  out.  To  most  of  those 
with  whom  we  have  had  to  do  it  was  a  time  of  waiting, 
with  expectation  for  some,  but  for  others  no  lightening 
of  the  atmosphere,  which  contained  many  elements  of  dis- 
comfort. 

Armitage  Brown's  long  period  of  work  was  done.  The 
Anglo-Moravian  Syndicate  was  in  being,  and  the  conse- 
quent public  companies  were  in  process  of  formation,  with 
every  indication  of  a  most  successful  launching  when  the 
time  should  come.  But  their  broad  details  had  long  since 
been  settled.  The  actual  work  in  connection  with  them 
was  being  done  by  smaller  men.  He  could  now  stand  aside, 
and  count  upon  taking  his  enormous  profits. 

He  was  conscious  of  no  elation.  The  profits  would  be 
of  no  advantage  to  him,  except  to  use  for  further  efforts, 
each  one  of  which  must  be  bigger  than  the  last,  if  he  were 
to  employ  his  millions,  and  gain  satisfaction  from  employ- 
ing them.  His  life  would  be  changed  by  them  in  no  smallest 
particular.  There  was  nothing  that  they  could  give  him 
that  he  wanted,  or  could  not  have  had  before.  It  was 
some  satisfaction  to  have  put  through  a  big  thing  like  this. 
But  against  that  was  the  drop  that  came  from  losing  the 
consuming  interest  that  had  held  him  for  the  last  six  months. 
He  had  worked  as  hard  as  if  his  whole  income  depended 
upon  it,  and  was  ready  for  a  short  rest;  but  he  knew  that 
the  rest  would  soon  become  irksome  to  him.  Even  the 
interests  of  Kemsale  would  not  hold  him  for  more  than  a 
few  weeks. 

425 


426  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

Mrs.  Brown  knew  now  that  she  disliked  Kemsale.  The 
life  that  she  lived  there  had  no  salt  for  her;  there  was 
no  progression  in  it.  She  saw  that  other  gifts  than  hers 
were  wanted  for  playing  a  leading  part  in  the  country, 
even  with  Kemsale  at  her  back.  She  had  resigned  herself 
to  treating  it  as  a  house  of  rest,  conserving  her  energies 
for  London  and  the  Riviera.  But  its  unwieldliness  and  the 
sense  that  it  was  being  wasted,  with  only  a  few  of  its 
great  range  of  rooms  occupied,  made  it  sit  like  a  burden 
upon  her.  It  was  a  humiliation  to  her  to  feel  that  she 
was  incapable  of  using  any  house,  however  splendid,  up  to 
its  full  capacity.  There  was  some  consolation  in  Alfred's 
having  taken  up  his  work  in  connection  with  it.  Through 
him  Kemsale  might  come,  in  time,  to  be  considered  again 
one  of  the  social  centres  of  Meadshire.  But  Alfred  was 
moody  and  depressed.  He  had  his  regular  work,  and  did 
it,  but  he  seemed  to  be  more  at  a  loose  end  than  before. 
She  doubted  whether  he  would  ever  come  to  take  a  real 
pride  in  his  position,  or  in  a  future  that  might  be  so  full 
of  dignity  and  honour,  if  only  he  would  use  his  oppor- 
tunities. She  saw  that  he  had  just  the  qualities  that  she 
herself  lacked,  to  make  himself  prominent  in  country  society, 
if  he  cared  to  use  them.  He  made  friends  easily;  he  could 
attract  anybody  to  him  with  what  he  had  to  offer  them,  and 
treat  them  on  a  basis  of  hospitality  that  was  beyond  her 
powers  altogether.  She  was  ill  at  ease  about  him,  but  could 
only  wait  and  see  how  his  new  and  enforced  attachment 
to  Kemsale  would  turn  out,  hoping  for  the  best,  but  suffer- 
ing many  hours  of  uneasiness  and  boredom  in  the  mean- 
time. 

Towards  Katie  her  feelings  were  those  of  impatient  dis- 
approval. Her  husband  had  forbidden  her  to  talk  to  the 
girl  of  what  had  happened  in  the  winter.  He  had  dealt 
with  it  himself.  Katie  was  to  be  treated  with  affection 


THE  WAR  427 

and  helped  to  forget  it.  He  was  peremptory;  nothing  was 
to  be  said  to  her  at  all ;  it  would  do  no  good.  So  the  girl 
and  her  mother  had  drifted  apart.  There  had  never  been 
much  confidence  between  them,  and  now  there  was  none.  If 
Mrs.  Brown  had  loved  her  daughter,  even  as  much  as  she 
loved  her  son,  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  her  to 
keep  the  silence  that  she  was  instructed  to  keep.  But  it 
suited  her  to  do  so.  Except  for  some  curiosity  as  to 
exactly  what  had  happened,  which  she  knew  that  Katie 
would  not  have  satisfied  in  any  case,  she  wanted  to  forget  the 
disagreeable  occurrence  herself.  It  reflected  no  credit  upon 
her  to  have  had  her  eyes  closed  to  what  her  own  daughter 
might  be  subjected  to,  especially  as  she  had  been  warned  of 
it;  and  her  husband  had  blamed  her  for  not  looking  after 
Katie,  and  had  said  things  that  she  also  wanted  to  forget. 

But  Katie  made  it  difficult  for  her  to  forget  anything. 
She  was  obviously  trying  her  best  to  be  exactly  what  she 
had  been  before,  and  outsiders  might  have  seen  no  differ- 
ence in  her.  But  those  of  her  family  could  not  help  noticing 
the  change  in  her,  try  as  she  might  to  hide  it.  She  had 
been  a  young  light-hearted  girl  a  year  ago.  Now  she  was 
a  saddened  serious  woman ;  no  effort  of  brightness  could 
disguise  it.  She  was  a  standing  reproach  to  her  mother, 
who  could  only  wait  for  the  time  when  she  should  recover 
from  her  disappointment,  but  in  a  constant  state  of  won- 
der that  she  should  have  felt  disappointment  at  all,  and 
should  take  such  an  extraordinary  time  to  get  over  it. 

At  Little  Kemsale  there  was  no  increase  of  happiness 
over  the  coming  fruition  of  Armitage  Brown's  great  coup. 
Beatrix  no  longer  expressed  doubts  as  to  the  result,  for 
Armitage  Brown  had  said  a  word  or  two  to  her,  at  Doug- 
las's request,  that  had  made  her  doubts  seem  unreasonable. 
The  thing  was  practically  done.  The  launching  of  th<- 
companies  was  a  matter  of  a  few  weeks  only,  and  then 


428  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

the  members  of  the  original  Syndicate  would  take  their 
extremely  handsome  profits.  She  and  Douglas  would  not 
be  millionaires  like  Armitage  Brown,  but  they  would  be 
rich.  She  never  heard  it  talked  about  in  any  other  way 
than  as  if  they  were  rich  already,  but  she  felt  at  the 
bottom  of  her  mind  that  she  would  never  consider  them- 
selves so  until  the  money  was  actually  in  Douglas's  bank. 

Douglas  was  already  talking  of  leaving  Little  Kemsale, 
which  they  had  thought  themselves  so  fortunate  to  find, 
and  to  which  they  had  done  so  much  to  make  it  still  more 
to  their  taste.  His  pleasure  in  it  had  departed.  It  had 
done  splendidly  for  them  as  long  as  they  could  not  afford 
something  better,  but  it  had  many  disadvantages,  and 
now  they  would  be  able  to  look  about  for  something  very 
much  nicer.  His  chief  occupation  at  this  time  was  to  study 
house-agents'  catalogues,  but  it  did  not  save  him  from  the 
weariness  of  waiting.  The  garden  was  at  its  ripest,  but  he 
took  little  interest  in  it,  nor  pleasure  in  the  long  summer  days, 
but  only  wished  that  they  would  pass  away  more  quickly. 

At  Barton's  Farm  there  were  already  beginning  prepa- 
rations for  Irene  Fuller's  wedding,  which  was  to  take  place 
in  November.  She  was  to  live  at  Points  Manor,  where 
there  was  plenty  of  room  for  the  old  couple  and  the  young 
couple  too.  Mrs.  Fuller  had  strongly  objected  to  this  ar- 
rangement. She  had  previously  strongly  objected  to  every 
other  arrangement,  important  and  unimportant,  that  had  been 
suggested,  including  the  central  one  of  Irene  marrying  John 
Davis ;  and  at  last  Mrs.  Davis,  who  had  been  politeness  and 
patience  itself  ever  since  her  encounter  with  Mrs.  Fuller 
at  Kemsale,  had  once  more  expressed  herself  forcibly. 

She  was  in  a  position  to  make*  an  ultimatum,  and  its 
terms  were  that  Mrs.  Fuller  should  henceforward  behave 
herself  and  give  no  more  trouble.  "  You're  perfectly  at 
liberty,"  said  the  quiet  terrible  old  lady>  "  to  go  about 


THE  WAR  429 

telling  everybody  that  it's  a  great  come-down  for  your 
daughter  to  marry  my  son.  Nobody  will  believe  you,  but 
that's  your  affair.  You  please  yourself  and  you  don't 
hurt  us.  But  we  are  going  to  take  Irene  away  from  all 
the  lies  and  nonsense  to  which  you  have  brought  her  up, 
and  make  a  nice  good  useful  woman  of  her;  and  we  are 
going  to  do  it  in  our  own  way.  Thanks  to  you,  she 
knows  nothing  about  housekeeping,  or  anything  that  a  coun- 
tryman's wife  ought  to  know,  and  it  will  be  a  benefit  to  her 
to  have  me  at  her  back,  at  least  for  some  time  to  come. 
She's  sensible  enough  to  see  it  herself,  or  the  suggestion 
would  not  have  been  made.  Peacock  about  as  a  fine  lady 
as  much  as  you  like,  but  don't  forget  that  I  know  all  about 
you,  and  can  tell  others  what  I  know  if  I'm  driven  to  it" 

So  Mrs.  Fuller  had  capitulated,  and  was  busy  with 
Irene's  trousseau,  for  which  her  husband  had  produced 
a  sum  of  money  exceeding  expectation.  He  had  not  told 
her  where  it  came  from.  He  was  far  more  independent 
and  authoritative  in  the  matter  of  money  than  he  had 
been  at  any  time  since  their  marriage.  He  had  a  grip  on 
his  affairs  at  last,  and  intended  to  keep  it.  The  fact 
was,  that  after  nearly  two  years  of  the  new  ownership  of 
Kemsale,  he  had  proved  himself  the  right  man  in  the  right 
place,  and  enjoyed  the  fullest  confidence  and  liking  of  his 
employer,  while  she  had  overshot  the  mark,  and  had  lost 
the  confidence  she  had  first  enjoyed.  Mrs.  Brown's  cold- 
ness towards  her  rankled  deeply;  she  was  by  turns  con- 
temptuous and  waspish  about  that  lady,  and  her  amiability 
in  her  own  home  was  rather  less  than  before.  But  its 
absence  was  less  effective  than  before.  Her  husband  had 
a  great  deal  to  occupy  him  outside,  where  everything,  in- 
cluding the  dairying  scheme,  now  in  full  working  order, 
was  going  so  well ;  and  her  daughter  was  looking  forward 
to  getting  away  from  her.  Barton's. Farm  was  not  exactly 


430  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

a  happy  home,  but  its  unhappiness  recoiled  chiefly  upon  her 
who  created  it. 

Happiness,  indeed,  was  not  the  note  of  Kemsale  at  this 
time.  Even  little  Anne  Sheard,  living  in  the  glamour  of 
her  first  love,  was  beginning  to  feel  that  the  delay  in  her 
recognition  meant  something  more  serious  than  the  year's 
probation  which  it  was  represented  to  be.  And  yet  none 
of  all  the  company  of  neighbours,  except  Grace,  who 
mourned  for  the  downfall  of  her  hopes,  and  Katie,  who 
was  slowly  recovering  from  a  shock,  had  anything  serious 
to  complain  of  in  the  complications  that  touched  their 
lives.  Those  complications  came  from  sheer  artificiality. 
A  breath  from  the  real  world  of  struggle  and  passion 
might  have  been  expected  to  blow  them  all  away. 

And  the  breath  came. 

There  were  rumours  of  war.  Almost  before  those  who 
were  not  particularly  interested  in  foreign  politics  had 
gained  an  idea  of  what  it  was  all  about,  there  was  war 
itself.  Before  they  had  become  used  to  that  sudden  and 
surprising  fact,  the  net  had  dropped  and  caught  them  all. 
War  for  them  meant  fighting,  and  men  to  fight,  this  time, 
not  reading  about  it  in  newsapers.  It  came  home. 

The  news  that  England  would  certainly  go  in  was  sent 
to  Kencote  a  few  hours  before  it  was  known  to  the  country 
at  large  by  Dick  Clinton,  who  always  seemed  to  be  able 
to  get  inside  knowledge  of  anything  that  was  going  on. 
He  had  gone  up  to  London  on  the  first  serious  rumour, 
and  when  he  returned  it  was  with  a  budget  of  news.  He 
was  to  rejoin  his  old  regiment,  and  it  was  believed  that 
it  would  be  one  of  the  first  to  be  sent  to  the  front.  John 
Spence,  Nancy's  husband,  was  to  rejoin  too;  he  had  rushed 
down  from  Yorkshire  with  the  same  eagerness  as  Dick. 
Both  of  them  held  themselves  fortunate,  at  their  age,  not 
to  be  left  out  of  it.  Young  Inverell,  serving  a  few  years 


THE  WAR  431 

in  the  Household  Cavalry,  would  also,  probably,  be  amongst 
the  first  to  go.  Dick  had  seen  Walter  in  London.  He  had 
already  volunteered  for  Red  Cross  work.  Dick  had  been 
able  to  pull  strings  at  the  War  Office;  he  would  certainly 
be  accepted  for  work  at  the  front. 

This  was  his  news,  as  it  affected  the  immediate  Clinton 
family,  with  much  more  as  to  what  was  going  on  behind 
the  scenes  to  give  it  point.  Including  Frank,  serving  in 
the  Navy,  it  accounted  for  all  the  sons  and  sons-in-law, 
except  Humphrey  and  Jim  Graham.  Both  of  them  had 
held  commissions  as  young  men  in  the  Meadshire  Yeomanry. 
Within  a  week  Jim  Graham  had  found  his  way  back  to 
them,  and  a  cablegram  had  been  received  from  Humphrey 
announcing  that  he  had  secured  a  commission  in  the  Austra- 
lian Expeditionary  Force. 

The  Squire's  first  state  was  one  of  bewilderment.  Eng- 
land was  being  hurried  into  a  catastrophe  on  no  clear 
grounds  that  anybody  could  take  hold  of.  Why  should 
we  go  to  war  for  the  sake  of  Servia?  His  opinion  of 
Servia,  which  changed  completely  at  a  later  date,  may  be 
suppressed.  He  suspected  the  Radicals  of  muddling  the 
affair,  but  this  suspicion  was  balanced  by  the  fear  that 
they  might  keep  a  dishonourable  peace.  He  had  no  par- 
ticular opinion  of  the  Germans;  they  were  a  beer-swilling, 
sausage-eating  nation,  who  committed  numerous  absurdities, 
such,  for  instance,  as  crying  "  Hoch,"  when  an  Englishman, 
if  he  cried  anything,  would  cry  "  Hurrah !  "  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  had  no  particular  opinion  of  the  French ;  he- 
had  lately  seen  some  of  them  in  the  hunting-field;  and  they 
ate  frogs. 

He  came  to  anchor  on  the  invasion  of  Belgium,  and 
read  the  full  reports  of  speeches  by  Radical  ministers, 
which  he  had  never  done  before,  preferring  to  take  them 
for  granted  as  a  pack  of  nonsense.  He  admitted  that  they 


432  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

read  well.  He  had  never  denied  that  the  Radical  ministers 
were  clever  fellows — the  trouble  with  them  had  been  that 
they  were  too  clever  by  half;  and  now  that  they  saw 
their  duty  plainly  he  hoped  that  they  would  do  it.  They 
seemed  to  be  doing  it,  so  far,  and  he  for  one  was  quite 
ready  to  let  bygones  be  bygones,  and  support  them  freely. 
We  must  give  the  Germans  a  lesson  that  they  wouldn't 
forget  in  a  hurry.  We  must  teach  them  this  and  that,  and 
the  sooner  we  did  it  and  got  it  over  the  better. 

But  underneath  all  his  confidence  in  England's  being 
able  to  do  quickly  what  was  necessary — aided,  of  course, 
by  France  and  Russia — there  grew  upon  him  in  those 
early  hurried  days  of  preparation  a  blank  feeling  of  dread 
at  the  payment  to  be  demanded  from  those  who  by  inherited 
tradition  would  have  the  doing  of  it.  Dick  had  served 
in  the  South  African  War,  and  had  come  through  it  un- 
scathed, with  a  D.S.O.  to  his  credit.  There  had  been 
long  months  of  anxiety,  but  they  had  never  darkened  to 
fear.  The  chances  had  been  that  one  out  of  so  many  would 
escape.  What  were  the  chances  of  seven  escaping,  in  what 
was  soon  seen  to  be  a  far  more  serious  matter  ?  He  put  the 
fear  from  him,  and  was  upheld  by  the  pride  of  knowing 
that  all  the  younger  men  of  his  family  and  those  connected 
with  it  had  answered  at  once  to  their  country's  call,  as  he 
would  have  answered  himself  in  the  good  days  that  were 
behind  him.  But  he  knew  that  there  were  dark  times 
coming  to  him  and  the  women  who  would  be  left  behind, 
when  once  the  days  of  preparation  were  over,  and  they 
should  be  left  alone  to  wait,  and  perhaps  to  weep. 

Dick  brought  the  reality  close  home  to  him  when  he  told 
him  that  he  ought  to  give  way  at  once  in  the  matter  of 
Frank's  marriage. 

"  I've  had  a  letter  from  him  this  morning,"  Dick  said. 
"  He  can't  say  where  he'll  be  sent,  of  course,  and  there's 


THE  WAR  433 

s 

no  such  thing  as  leave  now.  But  he  may  possibly  get 
a  few  days  later  on,  if  his  ship  is  anywhere  about — that 
looks  as  if  he  were  going  to  be  kept  in  home  waters — 
and  he  wants  to  have  everything  prepared  for  a  quiet  wed- 
ding at  a  few  days'  notice." 

"  A  wedding !  "  exclaimed  the  Squire,  much  startled,  and 
inclined  to  be  offended.  "  That's  going  ahead  with  a  ven- 
geance. I  told  him  definitely  I  wouldn't  hear  of  his  marry- 
ing this  girl.  It  isn't  a  suitable  marriage  for  him.  You 
said  so  yourself." 

"  I  didn't  altogether  like  it.  I  don't  think  it  is  particu- 
larly suitable.  But,  after  all,  he's  made  up  his  mind;  he's 
quite  old  enough  to  do  it;  and  she's  a  nice  girl  enough." 

"  She's  a  mere  child  with  a  pretty  face.  And  her  people 
are  not  the  sort  that  a  son  of  mine  ought  to  marry  amongst. 
Why  should  you  want  me  to  change  round  now  all  of  a 
sudden  and  give  way  ?  " 

"  Oh,  because  that  sort  of  reason  loses  its  weight  at  a 
time  like  this.  He  won't  be  marrying  her  people,  and  we 
needn't  see  more  of  them  than  we  want  to.  Anyhow,  I 
don't  think  they'll  do  us  much  harm.  Her  father  is  a 
good  enough  sort  of  fellow,  and  he's  behaved  well  about  it." 

"  I  don't  think  he's  behaved  particularly  well.  He  has 
allowed  Frank  to  consider  himself  engaged  to  the  girl 
against  my  wishes." 

"  He's  said  he  won't  let  him  marry  her  till  you  give  your 
consent.  That's  straight  enough.  Look  here,  father,  I 
don't  want  to  rake  up  bygones,  but  you  took  just  the 
same  line  about  me  and  Virginia,  and  you  know  what  very 
nearly  happened.  What  did  happen  has  made  this  differ- 
ence, that  I'm  going  out  with  the  regiment  as  a  captaT 
instead  of  in  command  of  it." 

"  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  bring  all  that  up,  Dick," 
said  the  Squire  in  a  pawd  voice.  "  I've  not  said  I  won't 


434  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

give  way,  but  you  can  hardly  expect  me  to  go  back  on  the 
position  I've  taken  up  in  a  few  minutes.  And  your  mar- 
riage and  Frank's  are  very  different  things.  You  are  my 
eldest  son,  and " 

"  Well,  but  my  dear  father,"  Dick  interrupted  with  a 
laugh,  "  that  makes  it  all  the  easier  to  give  way.  It  doesn't 
matter  so  much  whom  Frank  marries,  as  the  youngest  of  us. 
What  I  meant  by  reminding  you  of  my  marriage  was  that 
there's  very  little  time.  We  have  heaps  of  other  things 
to  think  of  and  settle  up  in  the  next  few  days,  and  we 
don't  want  to  keep  this  hanging  over  our  heads  as  a  ques- 
tion to  be  worried  about.  We  had  quite  enough  of  that  in 
my  case." 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  this  marriage,  and  I 
say  so  plainly ;  and  I've  seen  the  girl ;  it's  quite  different 
from  Virginia's  case.  I  might  give  way  if  Frank  had 
set  his  heart  on  it,  and  felt  the  same  in  a  year  or  so's  time. 
But  when  you  talk  of  an  immediate  marriage — rushing  into 
things  like  that — it  doesn't  seem  to  me  reasonable.  I  don't 
understand  why  you  press  it." 

Dick  stood  up  and  lit  a  cigarette  from  a  match-holder 
on  the  mantelpiece.  Then  he  turned  round  and  looked 
down  at  his  father,  who  sat  at  his  big  writing-table,  half 
facing  him.  "  This  war  is  a  very  serious  business,"  he  said. 
"  We're  all  going.  I  don't  know  how  many  of  us  will 
come  back.  If  Frank  doesn't ' 

He  broke  off;  the  old  man  gave  a  stifled  cry  of  pain. 
"  You  won't  want  him  to  be  thinking  bitterly — about  any- 
thing," Dick  said. 

There  was  a  pause.  "  One  of  her  brothers  is  a  sailor," 
said  Dick ;  "  and  another  one — the  boy  who  has  come  over 
here  sometimes — is  enlisting.  That's  two  of  them  in  the 
same  box  as  the  rest  of  us." 

"  I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  it,"  said  the  Squire, 


THE  WAR  435 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  it  has,  in  these  days.  We're  all 
going  to  do  something  that  matters  more  than  anything 
we've  done  before.  People  like  that  are  doing  it  as  well 
as  us.  .We're  not  thinking  much  now  of  the  little  differ- 
ences between  us.  They  don't  seem  to  be  of  such  impor- 
tance as  they  did." 

"  I  think  you're  right,  Dick,"  said  the  old  man,  slowly 
and  painfully.  "  After  all,  we're  giving  up  a  lot  more 
than  that.  There's  you,  and  John  Spence,  and  young 
Inverell.  I  wish  to  God  all  those  rascally  Germans  were 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  Well,  I  won't  hold  out  any 
longer.  You  do  think  she's  a  nice  good  girl,  don't  you? 
Virginia  likes  her?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  So  does  Joan.  She  and  Ronald  Inverell  went 
over  to  see  her,  you  know.  If  they  can  do  with  it,  I  think 
we  can.  They're  ready  to  treat  her  as  a  sister.  So  is 
Cicely.  And  mother  would  have  had  her  here  before  this, 
if  you  hadn't  objected." 

"  I  rather  wish  I  hadn't  objected,"  said  the  Squire. 
"  Frank  has  always  been  a  good  boy,  given  no  trouble 
about  money  or  anything  else,  and  liked  to  come  home 
whenever  he  could.  I  don't  like  to  think  of  the  boy  going 
into  danger,  and  thinking  bitterly  of  his  father,  as  you 
said.  Perhaps  I've  treated  him  a  bit  harshly  over  this." 

"  I  only  said  that  because  I  wanted  to  bring  it  home 
to  you — what  he  might  think  if  you  stood  out.  All  you 
have  to  do  is  to  write  to  him  and  tell  him  that  it's  all  right. 
You'll  make  him  happy,  and  the  girl,  and  yourself,  too. 
There's  not  too  much  happiness  to  look  forward  to  just  at 
present." 

The  Squire  sighed  deeply.  "  I'll  write  to  him,"  he  said. 
"  And  I'll  ask  your  mother  to  go  over  to  Kemsale  with  me 
to-morrow.  It  isn't  a  time  to  hold  up  your  head  now, 
except  over  what  you're  doing  to  put  things  right." 


CHAPTER    XXXV 


"  WELL,  Mr.  Brown,  I  hope  you  have  brought  some  good 
news.  One  wants  it  in  these  times." 

The  Squire  had  been  sitting  in  his  room,  with  the  Times 
on  his  knee,  long  after  he  had  finished  his  first  reading 
of  it.  His  windows  were  open  to  the  hot  August  air.  He 
would  go  out  presently;  there  were  many  things  to  see  to, 
now  Dick  had  gone;  but  it  was  difficult  to  bestir  one's  self 
about  ordinary  duties  when  all  the  world  was  changed  about 
one. 

Armitage  Brown  did  not  look  as  if  he  had  brought  good 
news.  His  face  was  dark,  and  he  did  not  smile  as  he 
accepted  the  Squire's  greeting. 

"  I  thought  I  had  better  come  and  tell  you  myself," 
he  said.  "  You  know  we  have  declared  war  on  Austria 
at  last.  That  puts  our  business  off  indefinitely,  and  most 
likely  loses  us  our  money  for  good." 

Some  months  before  the  Squire  had  asked  him  in  his 
bluff  half-condescending  way  if  he  could  make  use  of  a 
couple  of  thousand  pounds  he  had  lying  idle.  He  had 
been  good  enough  to  say  that  he  didn't  much  care  about 
speculation,  but  with  a  famous  financier  living  next  door, 
so  to  speak,  if  he  didn't  try  his  luck  now  he  never  should. 
There  were  the  two  thousand  pounds,  if  Mr.  Brown  could 
do  anything  with  them.  If  they  were  lost,  he  shouldn't 
grumble;  if  they  were  doubled,  he  should  think  very  highly 
of  the  capacity  of  "  you  gentlemen  in  the  City." 

It  may  be  imagined  that  Armitage  Brown  was  not  accus- 

436 


THE  OLD  IS  BETTER 

tomed  to  be  approached  with  offers  of  this  description,  but 
its  calm  assurance  caused  him  a  grim  amusement,  and  he 
told  the  story  afterwards  to  some  of  his  business  associates, 
with  considerable  success.  He  could  hardly  have  explained 
why  he  allowed  the  Squire  to  take  up  two  thousand  of  the 
shares  he  had  reserved  for  himself  in  the  Syndicate.  From 
his  point  of  view  it  was  pure  benevolence,  and  yet  it  would 
not  look  at  all  like  that  to  the  Squire.  But  the  aristocratic 
old  country  gentleman  had  touched  his  imagination  in  a 
curious  way.  He  was  inclined  to  admire  his  magnificent 
ignoring  of  all  standards  but  his  own.  And  in  Meadshire 
there  was  no  doubt  which  of  them  was  the  bigger  man. 
Armitage  Brown  felt  it  no  less  than  his  neighbours,  and 
did  not  mind  feeling  it.  His  amusement  at  the  request 
that  had  been  made  to  him  was  directed  partly  against 
himself,  for  being  actually  rather  flattered  by  it.  And  it 
would  be  gratifying  to  turn  the  Squire's  two  thousand 
pounds  into  five  or  six  at  least,  and  probably  very  much 
more,  and  so  exhibit  himself  as  able  to  do  something  that 
the  Squire,  for  all  his  beliefs  in  himself,  could  not  do. 

But  all  those  ideas  were  very  far  from  his  mind  as 
he  sped  over  to  Kencote  in  his  fast  car.  He  was  furious 
with  himself.  Never  before  had  he  allowed  motives  of 
friendship  to  influence  him  in  matters  of  business,  and 
now  this  affair,  out  of  all  the  others  in  which  he  might 
have  given  his  friends  an  interest,  greatly  to  their  benefit, 
must  needs  go  wrong.  Douglas  Irving,  his  nearest  neigh- 
bour, had  virtually  been  ruined  by  it.  He  was  going  back 
to  his  regiment,  leaving  his  wife  to  move  into  a  cottage 
and  live  on  a  few  hundreds  a  year.  That  was  what  h.id 
come  of  doing  him  a  good  turn,  though  he  had  not  known 
that  the  fool  had  put  the  greater  part  of  his  capital  into 
his  hands,  or  he  would  not  have  accepted  it.  And  this  old 
Squire— he  supposed  he  could  afford  the  loss,  but  if  ho  had 


438  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

j  udged  him  aright,  he  would  not  take  it  quietly.  He  rather 
hoped  he  wouldn't.  It  was  with  the  idea  of  relieving  his 
mind  that  he  was  going  over  to  Kencote  to  tell  his  news 
by  word  of  mouth  instead  of  writing  it.  Irving  had  taken 
it  well,  had  apparently  seen  clearly,  what  was  quite  true, 
that  the  factor  which  had  come  in  to  upset  everything  could 
not  have  been  guarded  against,  and  that  Armitage  Brown 
was  not  in  the  least  to  blame.  It  had  been  a  painful  busi- 
ness, all  the  same,  and  he  wanted  to  get  the  taste  of  it  out 
of  his  mind.  He  might  do  that  if  the  old  Squire  gave  him 
the  opportunity  of  stating — with  some  indignation — exactly 
how  each  of  them  stood  in  the  matter. 

As  for  his  own  loss,  it  disturbed  him  greatly.  It  was 
the  first  serious  set-back  he  had  ever  had.  THe  loss  of 
the  great  sum  of  money,  and  the  dislocation  of  the  money 
market  which  would  occasion  him  the  loss  of  much  more, 
appeared  to  him  in  the  light  of  a  disaster,  and  he  had 
not  yet  begun  to  recover  from  it.  It  was  of  no  use  at 
present  reminding  himself  of  the  fact  that  whatever  hap- 
pened he  would  still  be  a  very  rich  man,  and  that  the 
universal  change  of  values  would  give  him  opportunities 
in  the  immediate  future  for  the  profitable  use  of  his  finan- 
cial acumen.  While  the  great  majority  of  people  would 
lose  heavily,  he  would  gain,  and  the  longer  the  war  lasted 
the  richer  he  would  be  at  the  end  of  it;  for  he  could  hold 
out,  and  others  couldn't.  But  it  was  not  enough.  He  felt 
like  a  man  who  had  been  made  poor,  and  his  impulse  was 
to  draw  in  everywhere,  to  put  down  all  unnecessary  ex- 
penditure, to  lie  low  and  wait  for  the  better  times  to  come. 
He  had  gone  back,  when  he  had  never  thought  to  do  any- 
thing but  go  quickly  and  steadily  forward.  He  cursed 
the  war,  and  all  the  disturbance  it  had  brought  him.  It 
was  in  no  complacent  mood  that  he  prepared  himself  to 
listen  to  the  Squire's  remarks  on  his  loss — the  Squire,  to 


THE  OLD  IS  BETTER  439 

whom  the  war  had  also  brought  considerable  disturbance 
of  another  sort. 

The  Squire's  face  darkened  when  he  brought  out  his 
news.  "  I  haven't  been  thinking  much  about  that  sort  of 
thing,"  he  said.  "Well,  it's  another  blow;  I  suppose  one 
can  put  up  with  it.  I  was  a  fool  to  risk  a  sum  like  that. 
It's  a  thing  I've  never  done  before  in  my  life." 

This  was  what  Armitage  Brown  wanted.  It  turned  the 
point  of  his  anger  away  from  himself  and  gave  him  a 
certain  satisfaction  in  being  free  to  give  vent  to  it.  He 
was  thoroughly  angry,  in  a  cold  self-contained  fashion  that 
left  him  fully  capable  of  expressing  himself  in  the  most 
disagreeable  way  he  could  find. 

"  You  weren't,  a  fool  at  all,"  he  said.  "  You  would  have 
been  a  fool,  under  the  circumstances,  not  to  take  the  chance 
I  gave  you." 

The  Squire  looked  up  at  him  in  some  surprise  at  this 
method  of  address.  But  he  did  not  understand  that  he  was 
being  invited  to  a  quarrel,  or  he  might  have  chosen  his 
next  speech  with  more  care.  "  If  the  chance  has  resulted 
in  my  losing  two  thousand  pounds,"  he  said,  "  it  doesn't 
look  as  if  I  should  have  been  a  fool  not  to  take  it.  How- 
ever, it's  no  good  crying  over  spilt  milk.  If  the  money's 
gone,  it's  gone.  I  shall  be  wiser  the  next  time." 

"  What  do  you  mean  exactly  by  that,  Mr.  Clinton?  " 

There  was  no  doubt  now  that  the  man  was  in  a  dis- 
agreeable frame  of  mind.  The  Squire  had  become  accus- 
tomed to  something  like  a  deference  from  him,  and  had 
rather  lost  sight  of  his  eminence  in  another  sphere.  He 
was  reminded  of  it  now  by  his  hard  expression  and  short 
aggressive  speech.  But  he  was  not  in  a  quarrelsome  mood ; 
he  was  too  down-hearted  for  that.  "  Oh,  of  course,  I  don't 
blame  you  in  any  way,"  he  said  handsomely,  "  and  specu- 
lation is  your  business,  I  suppose.  You've  done  extraordi- 


440  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

narily  well  with  it,  I  know.  But  for  people  like  me,  it's 
better  to  give  it  a  wide  berth.  That's  all  I  meant." 

"  Speculation  isn't  my  business,"  said  Armitage  Brown, 
"  any  more  than  it's  yours.  My  business  is  to  get  together 
all  the  knowledge  I  can,  and  use  it.  I  gave  you  all  the 
information  I  had  myself  about  this  particular  business.  It 
was  buying  properties  of  a  definitely  known  value  at  much 
beneath  their  value,  and  selling  them  again.  Where  was 
the  speculation  in  that?  " 

The  Squire  was  not  prepared  to  say.  But  he  felt  it 
rather  hard  that,  having  lost  his  two  thousand  pounds,  he 
should  be  browbeaten  about  it.  "  I  suppose  the  trouble 
is  that  we  can't  sell  them  again  now,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps 
we  didn't  think  enough  about  that  risk." 

"  What  you  mean,  I  take  it,  is  that  /  didn't  think  enough 
about  it.  I  thought  about  nothing  else,  until  I'd  gone  over 
every  possibility.  It  was  the  central  point  of  the  whole 
thing.  I  won't  take  a  particle  of  blame  for  what  has  hap- 
pened, Mr.  Clinton.  It  was  I  who  was  the  fool  to  take 
your  wretched  little  bit  of  money.  I  didn't  want  it.  If 
this  business  hadn't  been  stopped,  like  hundreds  of  others, 
by  what  no  man  at  the  time  could  have  foreseen,  you  would 
have  had  handsome  profits  out  of  something  that  I  should 
have  done  all  the  work  for ;  profits  that  I  should  practically 
have  given  you.  And  you'd  have  taken  it  as  a  matter  of 
course,  with  perhaps  a  thank  you  thrown  in.  That's  what 
I  should  have  got  for  going  past  my  rule  not  to  let  my 
friends  into  my  business,  and  it's  all  I  should  have  got. 
It  is  I  who  was  the  fool." 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  were,"  said  the  Squire  drily.  He 
had  been  offended  at  the  reference  to  his  "  wretched  little 
bit  of  money."  Two  thousand  pounds  was  not  a  sum  to 
mention  in  that  way,  by  anybody,  and  the  fact  remained 
that  the  man  who  so  mentioned  it  had  lost  it  for  him. 


THE  OLD  IS  BETTER  441 

"  Still,  I  haven't  grumbled  yet  at  the  result,  and  I've  said 
expressly  that  I  don't  blame  you.  I  suppose  you  couldn't 
foresee  the  war,  any  more  than  any  of  us.  Is  the  money 
gone  for  good,  or  shall  we  get  it  back,  or  some  of  it,  when 
the  war  is  over?  What's  the  situation?  " 

He  was  taking  it  more  reasonably  than  Armitage  Brown 
had  anticipated.  He  had  been  intending  to  work  up  to 
a  little  effect.  The  outbreak  of  war  between  England  and 
Austria  was  just  the  one  thing  that  could  have  ruined  this 
wonderfully  engineered  and  consolidated  piece  of  business. 
Was  there  anybody  in  England  who  could  have  foreseen, 
at  the  time  the  money  was  called  up  for  the  original  pur- 
chase, that  in  the  course  of  the  few  months  that  must 
elapse  before  the  companies  could  be  formed,  we  should  be 
at  war  with  Austria?  Had  the  Squire  himself  had  the 
slightest  suspicion  of  it?  That  was  to  have  been  the  poser; 
because  any  one  could  have  seen  that  that  would  ruin  the 
scheme  as  it  had  been  explained  to  him,  and  he  could  not 
shift  the  responsibility  of  ignoring  the  risk  on  to  anybody 
else. 

But  apparently  he  did  not  wish  to  shift  the  responsi- 
bility. It  was  with  a  drop  in  his  tone  of  aggression  that 
Armitage  Brown  said :  "  My  loss  over  this  is  very  heavy, 
because  it  was  about  the  safest  proposition  I've  ever  tackled 
if  I  could  once  bring  it  off,  and  I  put  a  very  large  sum 
of  money  into  it.  I'm  not  even  going  to  say  I  risked  it, 
because  if  one  took  into  account  such  risks  as  have  spoilt 
this  business,  there  would  be  no  business  done  at  all.  I'm 
sorry  to  have  lost  your  money,  but  you  had  exactly  the 
same  opportunities  as  I  had  of  taking  this  risk  into  account, 
and  you  didn't  see  it  as  a  risk  any  more  than  I  did.  Nobody 
could  have  seen  it.  I  don't  know  whether  the  money  is  lost 
for  good  or  not  I'm  advised  that  the  Austrian  Govern- 
ment is  quite  as  likely  as  not  to  keep  the  money  we  have 


442  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

paid  over  to  them,  and  resume  the  properties  too.  We 
shall  certainly  be  able  to  do  nothing  with  them  until  the 
war  is  over,  and  I  suppose  whether  we  shall  be  able  to 
deal  with  them  then  will  depend  upon  a  good  many  things — 
who  wins,  for  one." 

"  Well,  there  isn't  much  doubt  as  to  who's  going  to  win. 
They  seem  to  think  it  will  be  a  longer  job  than  we  thought 
for  at  first,  but  we  shall  get  the  better  of  them  in  the 
long  run,  the  lying  dishonest  blackguards.  I  don't  know 
much  about  the  Austrians.  I  believe  they  are  a  bit  above 
the  Germans ;  but  they  have  gone  in  with  them,  and  they'll 
have  to  be  trounced  for  it  together.  Of  course  the  Ger- 
mans would  think  nothing  of  selling  you  something  and 
sticking  to  it  after  they  had  taken  your  money.  We'd 
better  consider  it  as  lost,  I  think.  If  we  get  some  of  it 
back  by  and  by,  so  much  the  better.  I  can't  help  wishing 
I'd  got  this  money  in  hand  now.  I  think  I  should  have 
sent  it  all  to  this  fund  they're  starting.  That's  something 
we  stay-at-homes  can  do  to  help.  It'll  come  hard  on  a  lot 
of  people  who  haven't  got  much.  It's  wonderful  how  the 
whole  nation  has  come  together  over  this ;  makes  you  proud 
of  being  an  Englishman.  By  the  by,  Brown,  if  you  haven't 
sent  your  contribution  to  the  fund  yet,  you  might  do  it 
from  Meadshire,  not  from  London.  We  want  the  county 
to  show  up  well  in  whatever  is  going  on.  I'm  sending  a 
thousand  pounds  as  a  first  contribution.  I  expect  you'll 
better  that  by  a  long  way;  but  I  thought  I'd  wait  to  see 
if  money  is  wanted  particularly  for  something  else." 

"  Oh,  I've  not  begun  to  think  about  that  yet,"  said 
Armitage  Brown.  "  The  war  has  knocked  everything  side- 
ways. I  shall  be  kept  busy  for  a  long  time  to  come,  trying 
to  make  up  what  I've  lost  only  within  the  last  week  or  so. 
The  war!  Who  would  have  thought  at  this  time  of  day 
that  half  the  nations  in  Europe  would  be  at  each  other's 


THE  OLD  IS  BETTER  443 

throats,  and  about  nothing  that  anybody  cares  a  pin  about?  " 

"  It's  a  sad  business.  I  don't  suppose  the  world  will 
ever  see  the  same  again — not  in  ray  lifetime.  Still,  it 
gives  us  something  to  think  about,  and  something  to  do. 
I'm  cutting  down  everything  I  can  here.  It's  made  it 
easier — the  servants  enlisting  and  the  horses  being  taken. 
We've  sent  off  nine  men  from  the  house  and  gardens  and 
stables  alone,  already.  Not  bad  that;  but  everybody  is 
doing  his  best  in  his  own  sphere  of  life  now.  Are  you 
making  much  difference  at  Kemsale?  " 

"I  shall  make  all  the  difference  I  can.  It's  no  time 
now  to  spend  money  on  keeping  up  a  great  empty  house. 
I  should  let  the  place  if  I  could  find  any  one  to  take  it 
I  shall  be  pretty  busy  for  some  time  to  come,  looking 
after  my  business.  I  shan't  be  down  here  much.  I  shall 
leave  my  son  to  do  what  he  can  to  keep  things  together 
at  Kemsale.  He  won't  mind  living  in  a  few  rooms,  and 
I  can  shut  up  the  rest.  I've  given  half  the  servants  notice. 
If  the  men  like  to  go  and  enlist,  they're  welcome." 

"  Your  son  isn't  going,  then?  " 

"Going?     Going  where?" 

"  Why,  Gobblessmysoul,  to  fight,  like  a  man !  We  want 
all  the  men  we  can  get." 

"  Well,  we  shall  have  to  do  without  him,  then.  No, 
he's  not  going  to  fight.  Why  on  earth  should  he?  He's 
the  only  son  I  have.  He'd  be  no  better  than  any  young 
ploughman  at  fighting,  and  he's  heir  to  all  I've  got.  I'll 
keep  him  out  of  it." 

The  Squire  gulped  down  his  growing  disgust.  He  had 
something  to  suggest,  and  wanted  to  be  persuasive.  "  I've 
an  idea  in  my  head,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  know  wlu-thrr 
you've  thought  of  it,  but  you  talked  just  now  about  shutting 
up  Kemsale.  What  about  turning  it  into  a  hospital  ?  I  and 
one  or  two  more  have  been  going  over  the  houses  in  Mead- 


444  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

shire  that  are  suitable,  and  the  fellows  that  can  afford 
to  equip  them.  Naturally  we  thought  of  you  first,,  as  you 
have  the  biggest  house  of  the  lot,  and  I  suppose  more  money 
than  any  of  us.  If  we  could  get  up  a  committee,  and 
you  could  come  forward  with  the  first  offer — we'd  arrange 
that — it  would  give  it  a  good  lead.  How  does  it  strike 
you?  " 

Armitage  Brown  rose  from  his  chair.  "  It  doesn't  strike 
me  at  all/'  he  said.  "  I'll  say  good-bye  now,  Mr.  Clinton. 
I'm  sorry  to  have  had  to  bring  you  bad  news,  but " 

"  Sit  down,"  the  Squire  interrupted  him.  "  I've  got  some- 
thing to  say  to  you.  What  are  you  going  to  do  towards 
helping  in  this  war?  " 

Armitage  Brown  did  not  obey  the  peremptory  order. 
He  showed  frowning  offence  at  the  tone  in  which  it  had 
been  given.  "  What  am  I  going  to  do  ?  "  he  repeated. 
"  Pay  taxes  through  the  nose,  like  everybody  else.  I  shall 
have  thousands  to  pay  in  taxes;  and  I  shan't  squeal  at  it. 
I'll  pay  my  share,  and  more  than  my  share,  because  they'll 
come  down  on  me  for  more,  but " 

The  Squire  stood  up  himself,  and  interrupted  him  again. 
"  When  you  go  out  of  this  house,"  he  said,  red  in  the  face 
with  anger  and  contempt,  "  you  don't  come  into  it  again. 
I'll  have  no  dealings  with  a  man  who  behaves  like  a  mean 
and  selfish  cur.  And  I'll  take  good  care  to  let  it  be  known 
far  and  wide  what  sort  of  a  man  we've  got  amongst  us  at 
Kemsale,  which  used  to  take  the  lead  in  every  good  work 
in  the  county." 

Armitage  Brown's  brain  cleared  as  if  by  magic.  Many 
thoughts  passed  through  his  mind,  and  he  saw  many  things 
he  had  not  seen  before.  He  sat  down  again  and  said:  "  I'll 
ask  you  to  explain  what  you  mean  by  that,  Mr.  Clinton." 

The  Squire's  strong  indignation  winged  his  utterance. 
He  spoke  with  more  than  liis  usual  clarity,  as  he  bent  his 


THE  OLD  IS  BETTER  445 

white  brows  upon  the  man  sitting  before  him,  and  ad- 
dressed him  as  if  he  were  some  culprit  amongst  his  own 
people,  who  had  incurred  his  heavy  displeasure.  The  text 
of  his  discourse  was  that  people  who  owned  land  and 
lived  on  it  had  duties  to  perform,  and  if  they  didn't  per- 
form them  when  the  call  came  they  were  shirkers  and 
cowards,  not  fit  for  honest  God-fearing  people  to  associate 
with.  "  You  have  a  young  unmarried  son,"  he  said.  "  Why 
aren't  you  sending  him  with  the  rest?  Because  he's  your 
only  son!  I've  got  four  sons,  and  they're  all  going,  and 
three  sons-in-law,  and  they  are  going  too,  and  leaving  their 
wives  and  children.  I'm  proud  of  them;  I  wouldn't  keep 
one  of  them  back.  Your  son  has  to  stay  behind  to  look 
after  your  property.  Property!  That's  all  that  a  place 
like  Kemsale  means  to  you — the  money  it  has  cost  you. 
I'm  an  old  man;  I'm  the  twenty-second  Clinton  to  hold 
Kencote,  and  I'd  go  to-morrow  if  I  could  be  any  use.  My 
eldest  son,  and  all  the  others,  have  gone.  All  three  of  my 
daughters'  husbands  are  men  of  property,  two  of  them 
men  of  large  property.  Young  Inverell — you  know  all 
about  him;  I  suppose  he's  about  the  same  age  as  your  son, 
but  with  a  young  wife  and  child,  and  everything  in  the 
world — name  and  wealth  and  a  great  future  before  him — 
that  a  young  man  could  have.  He's  leaving  it  all;  glad 
to  take  his  chance  of  coming  through,  just  like  the  young 
ploughman  you  talk  about.  Who  are  you,  I  should  like 
to  know,  that  you  should  skulk  behind  your  money-bags, 
and  men  like  that  should  go  out  and  do  the  fighting  for 
you?  We've  given  you  your  chance  here  of  coming  in  and 
being  one  of  us.  You've  had  a  welcome ;  we've  put  aside  the 
fact  that  your  birth  isn't  the  same  as  ours.  But.  by  God 
Almighty,  if  you're  going  to  show  that  you've  got  no  honour 
and  no  pride* in  yourself  and  your  country,  your  name  will 
stink  among  us,  and  your  precious  son's  after  you." 


UG  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

Armitage  Brown  had  sat  quite  still  during  this  indict- 
ment, with  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  and  no  change  on  his 
face.  It  was  in  a  voice  quite  level  and  free  from  offence 
that  he  said:  "Well,  Mr.  Clinton,  I've  made  a  mistake. 
You've  shown  me  that.  But  I'll  ask  you  to  remember 
that  I've  just  lost  half  a  million  of  money  that  I  know 
of,  and  a  lot  more  that  I  don't  yet  know  of.  A  man 
that  that's  happened  to  isn't  likely  to  have  his  thoughts 
free  for  other  matters,  till  he's  got  over  it  a  bit,  and  begins 
to  see  his  way." 

The  Squire's  indignation  was  not  softened  by  this  speech. 
He  had  more  to  say  yet. 

"  We  give  our  sons  when  our  country  wants  them,"  he 
said,  "  and  we  give  ourselves  if  we're  young  and  strong, 
as  I  wish  to  God  I  was.  We  love  our  homes  and  the 
land  that's  been  ours  for  generation  after  generation,  in 
a  way  that  a  man  like  you,  who  just  buys  them  for  money, 
can't  know  anything  about;  and  we  leave  them  as  if  they 
were  nothing.  If  we've  got  money  we're  ready  to  give 
that.  What  are  you  ready  to  give?  Nothing!  Nothing 
in  the  world.  I  say  that  men  like  you  who  rake  great 
fortunes  together  that  do  no  good  to  anybody  but  them- 
selves are  a  pest  on  society.  You're  not  brought  up  to 
give  your  manhood  to  your  country.  The  gentlemen  of 
England — and  the  ploughmen,  too,  by  George — yes,  they 
can  do  that.  But  you  can't  even  help  with  your  money. 
It's  all  there  is  to  you,  and  it  gets  you  where  you've  no 
right  to  be,  nine  times  out  of  ten;  but  we've  got  to  do  that 
as  well,  because  you  won't.  Taxes !  You'll  pay  your  taxes  ! 
Pah!" 

He  had  been  standing  on  the  hearthrug,  and  now  threw 
himself  into  his  chair  again,  somewhat  exhausted  by  the 
harangue  he  had  delivered,  but  still  flaming  with  anger 
and  contempt. 


THE  OLD  IS  BETTER  H7 

Armitage  Brown  spoke  with  the  same  absence  of  offence 
as  he  had  used  before.  "It's  a  strong  accusation,"  he  said, 
"  and  if  it  were  true,  I  should  have  nothing  to  say.  I 
should  get  up  and  go.  The  men  like  me — the  rich  business 
men — do  give  our  money  when  there's  a  call  on  us.  We 
give  more  than  anybody.  I've  subscribed  many  thousands 
myself,  at  one  time  or  another." 

"  You  said  just  now  that  you  hadn't  even  thought  about 
subscribing  to  this  fund  that's  been  started,  and " 

"  I  said  I  hadn't  thought  of  what  I  should  give.  I  didn't 
mean  I  shouldn't  give  anything.  Of  course  I  shall.  And 
I  admitted  just  now,  before  you  began  to  rub  it  in  a  second 
time,  that  I'd  made  a  mistake.  My  mistake  has  been 
in  not  seeing  what  was  wanted  quick  enough.  You  must 
make  some  excuses,  Mr.  Clinton,  for  a  man  who  has  just 
lost  getting  on  for  a  million  of  money.  That  is  how  the 
war  has  touched  me  personally.  It  has  touched  you  in  a 
very  different  way,  and  it  so  happens  that  your  personal 
interest  in  it  is  a  more  patriotic  one  than  mine.  But  that's 
not  to  say  I  shouldn't  have  come  to  take  the  right  views, 
and  do  the  right  things,  when  I'd  had  time  to  get  over  what 
has  so  upset  things  for  me.  You've  brought  them  home  to 
me,  and  I  don't  resent  your  plain-speaking  at  all.  About 
this  hospital  plan  now — what  are  you  doing  about  it 
yourself?  Are  you  going  to  turn  this  house  into  a  hos- 
pital?" 

Was  all  this  quite  sincere,  or  was  it  a  clever  attempt  to 
avert  retribution  of  an  awkward  kind  by  disclaiming  an 
attitude  that  was  seen  to  be  indefensible?  And  was  tin- 
question  at  the  end  an  attempt  to  turn  the  tables  ?  Nothing 
had  been  said  about  turning  Kencote  into  a  hospital. 

The  Squire,  at  any  rate,  was  suspicious  of  such  a  sud- 
den surrender.  "  I  shouldn't  have  asked  you  to  do  some- 
thing I  wasn't  prepared  to  do  myself/'  he  said,  witli  littlf 


'48  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

change  in  his  tone  of  indignation.  "  My  wife  and  I  are 
going  to  move  down  to  the  Dower  House  to  be  with  my 
daughter-in-law.  I  am  going  to  offer  this  house.  There's 
a  lot  of  room  in  it.  Whether  I  can  fit  it  up  as  a  hospital 
all  complete  I  don't  know  yet.  I  shall  have  to  see  what  it 
means  and  exactly  what  is  wanted.  And  I  don't  want  to 
do  anything  till  I've  seen  others  about  it.  I  should  like 
to  make  it  a  county  business — or  South  Meadshire,  at  any 
rate." 

"  Well,  whatever  you  do  with  Kencote,  I'm  ready  to 
do  with  Kemsale.  It  was  a  new  idea  to  me  altogether, 
or  I  wouldn't  have  spoken  as  I  did  about  it,  when  you 
first  mentioned  it.  I  didn't  even  realise  that  private  hos- 
pitals would  be  wanted.  But  I  suppose  they  will,  and 
you  have  thought  about  that  as  you've  thought  about  other 
things.  I'm  willing  to  follow  your  lead,  Mr.  Clinton.  I 
know  I'm  a  new  man  here;  I'm  not  so  anxious,  perhaps, 
to  cut  a  figure  in  county  society  as  you  might  imagine; 
what  you  threatened  a  while  ago  wouldn't  bother  me  much 
if  I  didn't  think  what  you  proposed  was  right.  I've  done 
a  good  many  things  since  I  came  here  that  I  hadn't  thought 
of  doing  before;  I've  tried  to  be  a  good  landlord  according 
to  my  lights,  and  if  I  haven't  understood  everything  at  once, 
it  has  been  because  it's  not  my  way  to  do  things  just  because 
other  people  do  them;  and  as  you  pointed  out,  I  wasn't 
brought  up  to  it." 

The  Squire  began  to  be  mollified.  The  man  talked  a 
lot,  and  seemed  able  to  change  his  views  and  intentions 
more  quickly  than  an  ordinary  mind  could  follow  him. 
But  he  was  not  altogether  untried.  It  was  true  that  he 
had  not  shown  himself  unduly  anxious  to  curry  favour 
with  the  more  important  of  his  neighbours.  He  had  taken 
his  own  line  about  many  things,  and  he  had  also  shown 
himself  ready  to  learn  from  those  who  knew  better  than 


THE  OLD  IS  BETTER  449 

he  did.  And  so  far  he  had  proved  himself  an  exceptionally 
good  landlord  in  everything  that  really  mattered.  If  he 
was  ready  to  do  his  duty  now,  and  spend  money,  which 
others  who  were  more  than  ready  to  do  their  duty  could 
not  afford  to  spend,  he  might  still  prove  himself  a  strong 
support  to  whatever  should  be  done  in  the  county;  and  it 
would  be  a  feather  in  the  Squire's  cap  to  have  him  brought 
to  a  right  way  of  thinking. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you're  inclined  to  look  at  things  in 
a  better  way,"  he  said.  "  What  I  should  like  to  do  would 
be  to  call  a  meeting  of  the  people  who  are  ready  to  offer 
their  houses  at  once.  My  own  idea  is  that  any  money 
we  can  collect  besides,  for  equipment  and  so  on,  had  better 
be  offered  at  the  same  time,  as  a  lump  sum,  and  let  the 
proper  authorities  deal  with  it,  and  with  the  accommoda- 
tion." 

"  I  think  I  may  say — now  you've  given  me  the  idea — 
that  I  should  be  ready  to  equip  my  house  completely,  in 
any  way  they  might  direct." 

"  You  can  make  that  offer  if  you  like.  What  I'm 
trying  to  explain  is  that  some  people  might  be  willing  to 
give  up  their  houses,  but  couldn't  afford  to  do  more  than 
that.  Personally,  I  should  feel  that  if  I  offered  to  do 
that  with  my  own  house,  it  would  look  as  if  I  were  trying 
to  gain  credit  over  other  people  who  were  just  as  willing 
as  I  was,  but  couldn't  afford  to  do  so  much.  That's  why 
I  should  like  to  make  a  county  business  of  it.  I  should 
pay  what  it  would  cost  me  to  fit  up  this  house  into  a 
general  South  Meadshire  fund,  and  the  proper  people  could 
use  it  as  they  pleased." 

Armitage  Brown  felt  abashed.     The  old  man  still  had 
something  to  teach   him   in   unselfish  neighbourly   feeling. 
"  That  would  be   far  the  better  way,"  hr  said, 
will  call  your  meeting,  I'll  be  ready  to  attend  it.     And  I'll 


450  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

undertake  to  subscribe  at  least  what  it  would  cost  to  equip 
Kemsale." 

The  Squire  was  conquered.  This  was  tangible.  His 
hostility  to  the  man  who  had  revealed  qualities  that  he 
had  lot  suspected  in  him  dropped  away,  and  he  saw  again 
the  man  whom  he  had  liked,  approved  for  the  respect  he 
had  shown  to  himself  and  his  opinions,  and  been  ready  to 
accept  as  a  desirable  neighbour,  in  spite  of  obvious  differ- 
ences. 

"  It's  very  good  of  you,"  he  said.  "  I'd  better  call  the 
meeting,  because  I  know  the  people  and  have  sounded  some 
of  them.  But  you're  the  owner  of  the  biggest  house.  You'd 
better  take  the  chair." 

"  No,  I  won't  take  the  chair,"  said  Armitage  Brown. 
"  You  shall  do  that.  But  I  dare  say  my  business  expe- 
rience will  come  in  useful  in  working  out  a  scheme,  and 
helping  to  run  it  afterwards,  if  that's  necessary.  There 
may  be  other  things  we  can  do  in  South  Meadshire.  I'm 
ready  to  give  time  to  them  as  well  as  money,  Mr.  Clinton. 
It  will  take  my  attention  off  disagreeables  that  aren't  per- 
haps so  important,  after  all.  I've  got  to  thank  you  for 
showing  me  the  way." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 
THOSE   AT   HOME 

As  Armitage  Brown  sped  back  from  Kencote  to  Kemsale 
he  felt  as  if  a  heavy  weight  had  been  lifted  from  his  mind. 
He  no  longer  thought  of  his  losses;  they  seemed  to  be  as 
nothing.  They  were,  in  fact,  nothing  in  respect  of  any 
practical  effect  that  they  need  have  upon  his  actions.  He 
had  been  shown  his  duty,  and  he  was  ready  to  do  it. 

He  was  more  than  ready  to  do  it.  He  had  come  into 
line,  and  whatever  he  could  do  now,  by  wise  use  of  his 
money,  and  still  more  of  his  organising  ability,  he  would 
do,  with  as  much  energy  as  he  had  brought  to  bear  upon 
his  financial  adventures,  and  as  much  satisfaction  as  he 
had  gained  from  them. 

For  the  old  Squire  had  brought  him  to  himself,  and 
the  real  man  was  not  the  selfish  money-grubber  who  had 
brought  down  that  indignant  fulmination.  His  vision  had 
been  obscured  for  the  time,  but  the  idealism  was  there, 
and  the  spark  had  been  kindled  that  had  made  it  glow. 
The  quick  change  that  had  come  over  him  was  charac- 
teristic of  the  man.  His  son  had  remarked,  with  another 
reference,  upon  his  genius  for  seizing  the  salient  point. 
He  had  done  it  again  and  again  in  small  matters  since  he 
had  turned  himself  into  a  landholder,  and  largely  under 
the  influence  of  the  old  man  who  had  been  a  landholder 
before  he  himself  had  been  born,  and  had  now  shown 
him  so  plainly  what  fine  ideals  of  loyalty  and  service  lay 
beneath  all  the  easy  stereotyped  course  of  life  led  by  men 
of  his  order. 

He  had  seen  it  all,  as  in  a  flash.  These  men  might  be 
451 


452  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

stiff  and  prejudiced  against  change,  reactionary  in  some 
of  their  ways,  a  hindrance  here  and  there,  perhaps  even 
as  a  class,  to  the  march  of  liberty  and  progress.  They 
had  more  than  others,  and  were  jealous  of  all  interfer- 
ence with  what  they  looked  upon  as  their  rights.  But  when 
the  call  came  they  were  ready  to  give  themselves,  eagerly, 
without  waiting  to  be  called,  without  taking  or  seeking 
credit  for  it.  It  was  not  simply  because  the  higher  ranks 
of  the  fighting  services  were  chiefly  their  preserve,  nor 
from  the  young  man's  love  of  adventure,  that  they  went  so 
readily.  Those  reasons  counted;  but  what  counted  more 
was  the  instinctive  inherited  response  to  the  call  of  honour. 
The  old  man  had  made  his  claim.  He  had  pointed  to  his 
eldest  son,  and  to  his  sons-in-law.  They  had  more  than 
others,  and  they  gave  more;  their  great  possessions  would 
not  hold  them  back  for  a  moment.  It  was  true  that  others 
were  now  coming  forward  who  had  less  to  give,  but  who 
gave  all  they  had.  Patriotism  and  self-sacrifice  were  not 
the  monopoly  of  one  class.  But  if  the  Squire  was  to  be 
taken  as  representing  the  old  order  of  English  wealth,  and 
Armitage  Brown  himself  the  new,  then  there  was  no  doubt 
as  to  which  of  them  had  shown  up  better  hitherto. 

Armitage  Brown  went  over  in  his  mind  the  hard  things 
that  had  been  said  to  him,  but  with  no  bitterness.  His 
mind  was  large;  it  had  only  been  narrowed  where  it  had 
concentrated  itself  upon  piling  up  money  with  no  wide 
view  as  to  its  proper  use.  He  even  thought  with  some- 
thing like  affection  of  the  righteously  angry  old  man  blazing 
out  his  wrath  at  him.  He  had  not  understood  everything, 
he  had  not  made  enough  allowances;  but  his  readiness  and 
Tightness  had  stood  out  in  such  contrast  to  his  own  failure 
to  grasp  the  true  proportions  of  all  that  was  happening 
around  him  that  there  was  no  combating  them.  He  was 
not  a  man  who  saw  things  clearly  and  without  prejudice, 


THOSE  AT  HOME  453 

as  a  rule.  He  had  lived  for  many  years  in  an  old-fashioned 
feudal  backwater  of  his  own,  while  the  great  river  of 
progress  had  flowed  past  him.  But  he  had  seen  clearly  here, 
and  acted  rightly,  even  down  to  that  detail  of  sinking 
his  own  importance  so  that  he  should  not  appear  to  be 
taking  credit  that  would  not  be  wholly  his.  It  was  a 
fine  touch  that;  it  had  come  after  Armitage  Brown  had 
capitulated  to  him,  and  was  ready  to  bring  a  more  trained 
intellect  than  his  to  bear  upon  his  schemes;  but  the  simple 
man  had  thought  of  it,  not  the  clever  one. 

Well,  he  had  been  shown  the  way;  he  would  not  be 
behind  now  in  treading  it.  He  liked  the  old  Squire's  idea 
of  organizing  his  county  of  Meadshire.  They  had  talked 
of  other  things  that  could  be  done;  the  Squire  was  watch- 
ing the  recruiting  figures  with  pride  at  the  response  of 
the  county,  but  some  jealousy  because  other  counties  were 
doing  still  better;  he  knew  personally  every  man  who  was 
serving  or  ready  to  serve  on  his  own  estates,  and  many 
outside  them.  Armitage  Brown  knew  scarcely  anything 
of  what  was  going  on  at  Kemsale,  and  yet  he  had  prided 
himself  on  the  things  that  he  had  done  to  make  it  a  model 
estate;  he  had  thought  himself  far  better  fitted  to  advance 
the  welfare  of  his  tenantry  than  the  owner  of  Kencote,  with 
his  old-fashioned  views. 

As  for  his  own  son — he  could  not  quite  make  up  his 
mind  there.  Was  it  really  necessary  that  a  young  man 
of  such  value  should  offer  himself  as  food  for  cannon?  He 
thought  of  young  Inverell,  the  Squire's  son-in-law,  who 
had  been  brought  up  as  an  answer  to  that  question.  There 
was  not  much  doubt  which  of  them  the  world  at  large  would 
consider  to  be  of  the  higher  value;  but  Alfred  was  his  son, 
his  only  son.  The  comparison  did  not  convince,  but  only 
dejected  him.  Did  Alfred  want  to  go  himself  He  had 
said  nothing  about  it.  But  they  had  not  talked  much 


454-  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

together  lately.  Armitage  Brown  had  been  gloomily  con- 
sidering his  affairs;  Alfred  had  been  busy  with  the  work 
he  had  taken  up,  or  at  least,  kept  a  great  deal  away  by  it. 

But  when  he  reached  home  he  found  that  the  decision 
had  been  taken  out  of  his  hands.  His  wife  met  him  in 
a  state  of  perturbation.  Alfred  had  received  a  telegram 
and  had  already  gone  up  to  London,  leaving  farewell  mes- 
sages. There  was  a  good  chance  of  his  getting  taken  on 
as  an  interpreter.  Captain  Clinton  had  worked  it  so  far 
for  him,  and  had  wired  him  to  come  up  without  delay. 

To  Armitage  Brown's  recovered  vision  his  wife's  annoy- 
ance seemed  unreasonable.  Alfred's  decision  had  cut  the 
knot  of  his  own  hesitations  in  a  very  satisfactory  way.  He 
was  glad  that  he  had  wanted  to  go,  and  relieved  that  his 
going  would  not  involve  the  greater  dangers.  "  I  think 
he  might  have  told  us  what  he  was  thinking  about,"  he 
said.  "  But  I'm  not  sorry  that  he  is  going  to  do  his  share. 
I  shouldn't  have  made  any  difficulty — if  that's  why  he  kept 
quiet." 

"  Oh,  I  think  it  is  dreadful,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Brown. 
"  He  couldn't  deny  that  there  was  danger,  though  he  pre- 
tended to  make  light  of  it.  He  hopes  to  be  sent  right  to 
the  front,  and  he  thinks  that  the  men  who  do  the  inter- 
preting work  will  be  expected  to  make  themselves  generally 
useful.  Whether  that  means  fighting  or  not  I  don't  know, 
but  I'm  sure  Alfred  hopes  it  does,  though  he  only  men- 
tions Red  Cross  work.  He  actually  said  that  if  there  had 
not  been  a  chance  of  his  getting  an  interpretership  he 
would  have  enlisted  at  the  very  first." 

Armitage  Brown  was  conscious  of  a  glow  of  pleasure. 
He  wished  he  had  known  of  that  before,  so  that  he  could 
have  told  old  Mr.  Clinton.  It  had  still  rankled  a  little, 
after  he  had  come  to  his  own  senses,  that  the  Squire  and 
his  belongings  had  not  needed  bringing  to  theirs.  But 


THOSE  AT  HOME  455 

here  was  his  own  son  who  had  been  as  ready  to  offer  him- 
self as  any  old-fashioned  gentleman  of  them  all. 

"  It  makes  me  proud  of  my  boy/'  he  said.  "  I  sup- 
pose he  will  let  us  know  when  he  is  going.  If  he  can't 
come  down  here  we'll  go  up  to  London  and  give  him  a 
send-off." 

She  had  expected  that  her  husband  would  regard  the 
matter  in  the  same  light  that  she  did.  It  was  some  time 
before  he  could  get  her  to  listen  while  he  told  her  of  the 
change  that  had  come  over  his  own  views.  He  did  not  do 
so  directly.  While  he  appeared  to  defer  more  to  her  wishes 
in  certain  matters  than  the  Squire  deferred  to  those  of  his 
wife,  he  was  actually  far  more  independent  of  them;  for 
the  Squire  always  appeared  to  get  his  way  in  everything, 
while  Armitage  Brown  actually  did  so.  The  decision  he 
had  formed  on  his  way  home  was  that  Kemsale  should  be 
given  up  at  once  for  its  new  use,  and  that  he  would  rent 
Little  Kemsale  back  from  Irving,  furnished. 

Mrs.  Brown  was  startled  by  the  proposal.  If  economies 
were  to  be  made,  as  she  had  already  been  told  they  were, 
she  would  be  glad  enough  to  get  away  from  Kemsale. 
If  the  knowledge  that  the  house  was  not  actually  being 
used  was  galling  to  her,  it  would  be  still  more  so  to  make 
the  fact  apparent,  which  would  be  done  by  shutting  up 
most  of  it  and  dismissing  half  the  servants.  But  she  wanted 
to  live  in  London.  "  What  is  the  object,"  she  asked,  "  of 
tying  ourselves  here,  to  a  small  house,  if  we  must  leave 
the  big  one?  " 

"  You'll  be  much  happier  in  a  smaller  house,"  said  her 
husband,  who  knew  more  about  her  likes  and  dislikes  than 
shr  suspected.  "  You'll  get  rid  of  a  lot  of  bothers,  and 
I  shall  get  rid  of  a  lot  of  expense.  I  don't  want  the 
Berkeley  Square  house  opened  up  this  year;  just  krrp  n 
few  rooms  and  a  couple  of  servants  there  for  when  we 


456  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

want  to  go  to  London.  There's  a  great  deal  of  work  to 
be  done  here;  we  shall  be  able  to  do  it  conveniently  at 
Little  Kemsale,  and  the  house  is  quite  big  enough.  It 
will  do  Irving  a  good  turn  too,  to  take  it  off  his  hands  in 
that  way;  unless  he's  made  other  arrangements,  which  I 
hope  he  hasn't  yet." 

Douglas  had  made  no  other  arrangements.  He  was  glad 
enough  to  consent  to  this  one.  He  and  Beatrix  were  sit- 
ting together  in  his  room  when  Armitage  Brown  went  down 
to  them.  Douglas  had  returned  from  London  that  morning. 
He  was  to  rejoin  his  old  regiment  on  the  next  day.  Brad- 
gate  was  going  back  to  it  too. 

Douglas  was  not  particularly  disposed  to  welcome  this 
visitor.  He  had  had  a  very  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  with 
Armitage  Brown  some  days  before.  He  had  seen  in  him 
what  he  had  not  seen  before — the  hard  ruthless  man  of 
business,  to  whom  the  losses  and  distress  of  other  people 
were  matters  of  annoyance,  so  far  as  they  affected  his 
own  ease  of  mind,  but  not  matters  of  sympathy.  He  had 
felt  like  a  culprit  before  the  man  to  whom  he  had  entrusted 
his  money,  when  he  had  been  obliged  to  confess  what 
the  loss  of  it  meant  to  him.  He  did  not  blame  him  for 
its  loss — he  could  hardly  do  that — but  he  did  not  want 
to  talk  to  him  about  it  again. 

But  Armitage  Brown  had  apparently  reverted  to  his  old 
state  of  mind,  which  had  not  been  destitute  of  sympathy 
and  kindness  towards  his  nearest  neighbours.  When  they 
had  talked  a  little  about  the  war,  and  Douglas's  probable 
movements,  he  made  his  proposal,  offering  a  very  hand- 
some rent  for  the  use  of  the  house  exactly  as  it  was.  "  All 
your  things  will  be  looked  after  well,"  he  said,  "  and  per- 
haps you  can  leave  them  more  as  they  are  than  if  you 
were  to  let  the  house  to  strangers ;  you'll  be  able  to  come 
back  to  them  when  all  this  trouble  is  over." 


THOSE  AT  HOME  457 

"  I'm  afraid  we  shan't  be  able  to  come  back  to  them, ' 
said  Douglas.  "  We  were  just  talking  of  that.  But  I'm 
very  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  offer.  Of  course  we'll 
accept  it  gratefully,  won't  we,  Bee?  " 

She  was  sitting  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  her  hand  in  his. 
She   looked   as   if  she   had  been   crying,  and  there   were 
signs  of  emotion  on  his  face  too.     But  she  spoke  lightly 
enough.     Their  troubles  were  between  them;  no  outsider 
was  to  know  how  deeply  they  had  been  hit.    "  It's  a  splen- 
did chance,"  she  said.     "  Thank  you  so  much,  Mr.  Brown ; 
it  will  make  things  ever  so  much  easier  for  what  we  want 
to  do.     I  am  going  to  offer  myself  for  hospital  work,  when 
Douglas  goes.     I  had  some  training  before  I  was  married. 
I  shall  hope  to  get  taken  on  somewhere  at  once." 
"What,  Red  Cross  work?  "  he  asked. 
Her  face  fell  a  little.     "  I  should  have  liked  that,"  she 
said.      "  But  with   Douglas   away  we  can't  make  up  our 
minds  that  I  should  leave  the  children." 

"  You'll  have  to  leave  them,  won't  you,  if  you  go  nurs- 
ing? "  His  voice  was  gentle.  He  saw  what  they  must 
be  suffering.  If  Douglas  had  not  risked,  and  for  the 
present  at  least  lost,  the  greater  part  of  their  income,  he 
might  have  gone  off  to  his  duty,  and  left  his  wife  and 
children  behind  in  the  home  that  they  had  so  loved.  He 
could  have  thought  of  them  there  safe  and  sheltered  while 
he  was  undergoing  the  dangers  and  hardships  of  w.ir;  he 
could  have  inspirited  himself  with  the  happy  anticipation 
of  returning  to  his  home,  far  dearer  in  its  expression  of 
his  tastes  and  affections  than  it  had  ever  been. 

"  We  are  going  to  send  them  to  a  friend  of  mine," 
Beatrix  said,  with  a  catch  in  her  voice.  "  When  Douglas 
comes  back,  we  shall  all  be  together  again,  somewhere." 

"  Well,  now/'  Armitage  Brown  said,  "  I  think  I  can 
suggest  something  better  for  you  than  that."  He  told 


458  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

them  of  his  plans  for  turning  Kemsale  into  a  hospital. 
"  Why  shouldn't  you  do  your  work  here?  "  he  said.  "  We 
can  find  you  a  pretty  cottage  somewhere  handy,  and  you 
can  have  the  little  ones  there  with  you.  We  don't  want 
more  partings  than  are  necessary  at  a  time  like  this,  do 
we?  When  men  are  going  off  to  fight  for  us  all,  those 
who  are  left  behind  ought  to  stick  together.  You  are  part 
of  Kemsale,  you  know,  Mrs.  Irving.  I  don't  want  you  to 
leave  us.  There's  plenty  you  can  do  here." 

He  left  them  a  good  deal  happier  than  he  had  found 
them.  Beatrix  could  not  restrain  her  tears,  but  they  were 
tears  of  joy  this  time.  "  It  would  have  been  dreadful 
to  have  sent  the  darling  children  away,"  she  said.  "  I  have 
tried  ever  so  hard  to  get  used  to  it;  but  it  would  have 
been  the  hardest  thing  of  all,  except  your  going,  dearest." 

"  It's  the  first  bit  of  comfort  we've  had,"  said  poor  Doug- 
las. "  Oh,  what  a  fool  I've  been ;  and  all  through  not 
knowing  when  one  was  well  off.  How  on  earth  I  can 
have  looked  forward  to  leaving  Little  Kemsale,  I  can't 
think.  Now  we're  going  to  lose  it,  it  seems  to  me  like 
Paradise.  And  it  will  be  worse  for  you  than  for  me,  Bee. 
You  were  contented  and  happy  here,  and  warned  me  against 
my  folly.  Why  didn't  I  listen  to  you?  I  shall  never  for- 
give myself." 

"  I  have,  long  ago,  if  there  was  anything  to  forgive," 
she  said.  "  And  you  must  forget  it  all  now,  Douglas  dear. 
We  shall  have  enough;  we  shall  all  be  together,  when  you 
come  back,  and  you'll  get  such  a  welcome,  darling." 

"  You're  very  sweet  and  good  about  it,  Bee,"  he  said, 
pressing  her  hand.  "  I  shan't  mind  so  much  now,  if  I 
can  think  of  you  and  the  kiddies  here  somewhere.  He's 
a  good  fellow,  Brown;  I  know  he'll  do  what  he  can,  and 
perhaps  things  won't  be  so  bad  after  all,  in  the  long  run. 


THOSE  AT  HOME  459 

But  it  doesn't  seem  of  such  importance  now,  how  one  is 
going  to  live,  as  long  as  one  has  a  home  of  some  sort." 

"  That's  what  I  feel,"  she  said  eagerly.  "  There  is  so 
much  to  do,  for  both  of  us,  for  all  of  us.  Perhaps  in  the 
past  we  have  thought  too  much  about  enjoying  ourselves. 
We  shouldn't  be  happy  now,  doing  that,  if  we  could." 

"  I  have  thought  too  much  about  enjoying  myself," 
Douglas  said.  "  I  don't  think  you  have,  my  dear.  Well, 
we've  both  got  our  job  now.  I  shall  do  mine  with  a 
much  better  heart,  thanks  to  friend  Armitage.  He's  going 
to  do  his,  too.  Somehow,  I  didn't  think  he  would  take 
it  up  like  this.  However,  we're  all  going  to  do  what  we 
can,  and  there's  no  need  to  think  about  what  is  coming 
after,  until  we've  got  through.  Old  Bill  feels  that;  his 
business  has  been  knocked  endwise,  besides  what  he's  lost 
in  the  Anglo-Moravian ;  but  he  says  he  doesn't  care,  as 
long  as  he  can  leave  Mrs.  Bill  fairly  comfortable;  there's 
something  quite  different  to  think  about,  something  to 
do.  After  all,  we're  all  of  us  better  with  something  to 
do,  and  when  it's  as  important  as  this  war  is,  it  doesn't 
leave  you  much  time  to  think  of  your  amusements." 

"  One  gets  down  to  realities,"  she  said.  "  We  shall 
both  be  better  and  stronger  for  it,  when  it's  all  over,  if 
we  have  done  our  best.  We  shan't  think  so  much  of 
what  we've  lost;  we  shall  have  something  to  put  in  its 
place.  So  don't  worry  any  more  about  what  has  hap- 
pened, Douglas  dear.  It  can  do  us  no  harm,  if  we  don't 
let  it." 

Douglas  went  off  the  next  morning,  and  a  few  days 
later  the  Browns  moved  to  Little  Kemsale.  A  cottage 
was  found  for  Beatrix  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village.  It 
had  a  large  parlour  and  a  large  garden.  With  a  little 
alteration  it  would  make  a  charming  home;  but  nothing 
was  to  be  done  to  adapt  it  at  present;  it  would  do  for 


460  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

her  and  the  children  and  two  maids,  as  it  was.  It  was 
furnished  from  Little  Kemsale,  and  the  gaps  there  made 
good  from  Great  Kemsale.  Armitage  Brown  had  suc- 
ceeded in  mending  the  damage  done  to  the  lives  of  these 
friends  of  his  by  no  more  than  a  little  thoughtful  kind- 
ness. Whether  or  not  they  would  ever  get  back  to  some- 
thing of  their  former  prosperity  seemed  at  present  to  matter 
little.  Their  way  was  clear;  they  could  leave  the  rest. 

At  Kemsale  Rectory  there  was  deep  seriousness  in  these 
days,  heavy  with  fate  for  so  many.  Charles  was  in  his 
ship  somewhere  on  the  other  side  of  the  world;  young 
William  had  joined  the  Meadshire  Hussars,  and  was  busy 
with  his  training;  John,  the  Cambridge  don,  was  hoping 
to  get  a  chaplaincy  at  the  front;  Henry,  the  doctor,  had 
already  gone  out  to  a  base  hospital.  But  little  Anne 
had  been  made  happy,  though  her  fears  for  her  lover 
were  not  small.  The  Squire  and  Mrs.  Clinton  had  driven 
over  to  Kemsale  with  their  treaty  of  alliance.  Frank  was 
employed  in  home  waters;  his  letters  gave  no  information 
as  to  where  he  was  or  what  he  was  doing,  but  he  had 
expectations  of  a  week's  leave  later  on  in  the  year,  and 
preparations  were  to  be  made  for  a  wedding  upon  the 
first  opportunity. 

The  Squire,  having  once  given  in,  behaved  handsomely. 
Frank's  allowance  was  to  be  increased  to  a  thousand  a 
year,  and  they  were  to  occupy  a  snug  little  Georgian  house 
in  the  village  of  Kencote,  where  Anne  would  be  under 
the  fostering  eye  of  her  new  relations  when  the  lot  of  a 
sailor's  wife  left  her  alone.  Her  parents  would  have 
preferred  that  she  should  stay  with  them  until  she  and 
Frank  could  settle  together  in  whatever  home  the  exigencies 
of  his  profession  would  allow.  But  they  accepted  the 
arrangement  philosophically,  as  part  of  the  price  they 
must  pay  for  their  daughter  marrying  outside  of  their 


THOSE  AT  HOME  46l 

station.  Anne  was  to  be  a  Clinton,  and  it  was  for  the 
Clintons  to  say  what  was  suitable  for  her,  not  the  Sheards. 
She  would  not  be  far  off,  and  would  often  be  with  them. 

But  the  differences  between  Clintons  and  Sheards,  in 
these  unsettling  days,  seemed  much  smaller  than  at  other 
times.  Even  to  the  Squire,  the  dignity  of  his  house  seemed 
of  less  importance,  except  in  so  far  as  it  was  upheld  by 
the  services  it  was  rendering  so  willingly;  and  taken  on 
that  ground  the  Sheards,  who  were  rendering  their  ser- 
vices too,  were  not  devoid  of  dignity.  The  Squire  recog- 
nised it,  as  he  sat  in  Mrs.  Sheard's  drawing-room,  which 
was  furnished  now,  though  sparsely.  He  recognised  it 
in  the  Rector's  upright  direct  manliness,  which  met  the 
same  qualities  in  himself,  and  made  the  unessentials  with 
which  they  had  been  overlaid  shrivel  away  from  him.  Still 
more  did  Mrs.  Clinton  recognise  it  in  the  simple-minded 
woman  who  was  moved  by  the  same  fears  and  sorrows  and 
pride  on  behalf  of  her  sons  as  she  was  herself. 

The  Squire  made  no  patronising  speeches.  "  Well,  Mr. 
Sheard,  my  boy  wants  to  marry  your  girl;  we've  got  to 
put  our  heads  together  and  make  it  easy  for  them."  That 
was  his  opening,  and  nothing  was  said  throughout  the 
interview  that  followed  about  his  own  previous  unwilling- 
ness to  make  it  easy,  or  even  possible,  for  them.  When 
little  Anne  came  in,  blushing  and  smiling  and  rather  fright- 
ened, he  kissed  her  and  said:  "My  dear,  we're  going  to 
take  care  of  you  while  Frank  is  away;  and  when  he 
comes  back  to  us  again,  we're  all  going  to  be  very  happy 
together." 

When  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clinton  drove  away  he  said: 
"That's  a  very  dear  little  girl.  I'm  glad  she's  young 
and  pretty.  She'll  cheer  us  up  at  Kencote.  God  knows 
we  shall  want  it,  with  what's  coming."  There  was  no 
word  of  criticism,  no  reference  to  those  differences  which 


462  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

had  bulked  so  largely  with  him,  and,  if  he  had  been 
thinking  of  them  now,  must  have  made  themselves  in  some 
ways  apparent  during  the  visit.  But  Mrs.  Clinton  had 
known  how  he  would  take  it  when  it  came  to  the  point. 
She  had  kept  quiet  and  not  hurried  to  intervene.  She 
wanted  her  boy's  happiness,  and  had  known  that  his  love 
for  this  good  sweet  girl  was  not  a  mere  passing  fancy. 
In  time  she  would  have  moved;  but  there  had  been  no 
necessity,  and  she  was  glad  that  her  husband  should  have 
shown  himself  what  she  knew  him  to  be  without  pressure 
on  her  part. 

"  I  am  sure  we  shall  love  her,"  she  said.  "  Frank 
has  chosen  well." 

There  was  another  marriage  to  be  celebrated  at  Kem- 
sale,  quietly  and  prematurely  because  of  the  war.  John 
Davis  was  in  the  Meadshire  Yeomanry,  as  all  his  forbears 
had  been  since  his  family  had  first  settled  at  Points  Farm. 
He  and  Irene  were  to  be  married  in  September,  and  she 
was  to  go  to  her  new  home  to  wait  for  him  there. 

Mrs.  Fuller  was  relieved  from  certain  mean  anxieties 
by  the  arrangement.  A  "  grand  "  wedding,  to  the  carry- 
ing out  of  which  she  would  have  brought  every  faculty 
that  she  possessed  if  Irene  had  been  marrying  what  she 
would  have  called  well,  would  have  presented  difficulties 
under  the  circumstances.  She  had  already  begun  to  dread 
them.  The  Davises  would  have  brought  to  the  ceremony 
many  friends  and  relations  of  the  utmost  respectability, 
but  of  the  kind  at  whom  she  had  been  accustomed  to  turn 
up  her  nose.  But  she  on  her  side  could  not  even  have 
done  that.  Her  husband  had  scarcely  any  relations,  and 
while  she  had  plenty,  she  would  have  died  rather  than 
produce  any  one  of  them. 

But  a  quiet  wedding!  It  was  being  done  now,  under 
similar  circumstances.  It  was  "  the  thing."  Even  presents 


THOSE  AT  HOME  463 

were  to  be  discouraged — not  strongly  discouraged  from 
immediate  neighbours;  but  there  was  to  be  no  display  of 
them.  This  got  over  another  difficulty  that  had  kept  Mr-,. 
Fuller  awake  in  the  night;  for  there  had  been  nowln  r 
for  presents  to  come  from,  apart  from  immediate  neigh- 
bours, or,  at  any  rate,  none  that  could  be  displayed  with 
advantage. 

Poor  little  Herbert  was  pleased  enough  to  be  rid  of 
the  fuss.  His  mind  was  greatly  exercised  over  what  was 
happening.  He  mourned  his  advancing  years  as  he  had 
never  mourned  them  before,  even  when  he  had  thought 
that  they  might  bring  him  to  penury.  He  thought  about 
the  war  night  and  day,  and  envied  from  the  bottom  of  his 
loyal  little  soul  the  men  who  were  young  enough  to  go  off 
and  fight.  Mrs.  Fuller  gave  him  no  sympathy,  until,  stung 
by  her  sneers,  he  began  to  consider  seriously  whether  he 
couldn't  be  of  use  in  training  new  troops,  and  talked  of 
sending  in  an  application.  Her  sympathy  was  not  re- 
markably soothing  then,  but  she  managed  to  put  a  stop 
to  his  designs.  He  was  wanted  where  he  was;  and  what 
should  she  do,  pray,  if  he  were  to  go  off  and  leave  her? 
And  he  wasn't  strong  enough  for  it  either;  he  was  very 
proud  of  appearing  younger  than  he  really  was,  but  his 
years  were  beginning  to  tell  on  him,  and  he'd  better  not 
put  himself  in  a  position  where  that  would  be  made  plain. 

Thus  did  this  amiable  spouse  refuse  to  be  parted  from 
her  supporter.  She  cut  out  and  made  up  a  few  suits  of 
pyjamas  for  the  Meadshire  Yeomanry  later  on,  when  she 
found  that  that  sort  of  thing  was  "being  done,"  and 
pushed  herself  on  to  one  or  two  Meadshire  ladies'  com- 
mittees. Otherwise,  the  war  made  no  difference  to  her. 
"  If  only  one  could  send  a  few  women  to  the  front,"  said 
Armitage  Brown,  with  reference  to  her,  "one  wouldn't 
so  much  object  to  the  phrase  '  food  for  powder.'  " 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 
FAREWELLS 

"!F  you  care  to  go  back  that  way,  we  might  all  go  and 
have  a  last  look  at  the  house." 

It  was  Alfred  who  spoke.  Grace  and  Meadshire  had 
been  dining  at  Little  Kemsale,  and  the  three  of  them, 
with  Katie,  set  out  under  the  harvest  moon  for  the  great 
house,  which  was  now  fully  transformed  into  its  hospital 
state. 

During  the  early  days  of  the  war  Meadshire  had  come 
down  to  the  Herons'  Nest,  for  the  first  time  for  eight 
months.  He  was  sobered  and  sad,  himself  again  for  a 
time  at  least,  but  showing  the  signs  of  his  long  bout  of 
intemperance  as  he  had  never  shown  them  before.  On 
the  morning  after  his  arrival  he  motored  over  to  the 
headquarters  of  the  Meadshire  Yeomanry,  with  which  he 
had  served  as  a  young  man,  and  his  offers  of  renewed 
service  were  promptly  rejected.  He  went  straight  up  to 
London  again  without  returning  to  Kemsale,  and  Grace 
heard  nothing  of  him  for  some  weeks.  Then  he  wrote  to 
say  that  he  was  to  be  allowed  to  take  a  motor-car  over 
to  Headquarters,  and  make  himself  generally  useful.  He 
was  coming  down  for  a  night  to  say  good-bye.  He  wanted 
also  to  say  good-bye  to  Katie,  and  to  the  Browns,  and 
asked  her  to  arrange  it.  Armitage  Brown  need  not  fear 
any  renewal  of  the  request  that  he  had  rejected  so  intol- 
erantly. He  should  like  to  leave  England  in  a  state  of 
friendship  with  them  all. 

Armitage  Brown  consented  at  once.  He  did  not  regret 

464 


FAREWELLS  465 

having  refused  his  consent  to  a  marriage  between  Mead- 
shire  and  Katie;  but  he  was  inclined  to  regret  the  way 
in  which  he  had  intimated  his  refusal.  He  did  not  now 
understand  all  that  had  led  up  to  the  proposal,  but  was 
no  longer  disposed  to  think  of  it  as  a  dishonourable  at- 
tempt on  the  part  of  a  middle-aged  wastrel  to  capture  an 
heiress.  He  had  never  talked  to  Katie  about  it  at  all; 
she  had  shown  him  no  less  affection  than  before,  and 
had  been  docile  and  companionable  whenever  they  had 
been  together.  But  the  change  in  her  had  been  marked, 
and  had  continued.  After  some  months  it  was  no  longer 
possible  to  think  of  her  either  as  a  girl  who  had  been 
rescued  from  a  danger  into  which  her  youth  and  inexperi- 
ence had  led  her,  or  on  the  other  hand  as  one  who  was 
grieving  over  a  broken  love-affair.  Her  father  did  at  last 
mention  Meadshire's  name  to  her  when  Grace  had  asked 
him  what  she  had  been  told  to  ask. 

"  Lord  Meadshire  is  coming  down  to-morrow,  Katie. 
He  wants  to  say  good-bye  to  us — to  you.  Will  it  distress 
you  to  see  him,  my  dear?  " 

Her  face  did  not  change  in  the  least  as  she  lifted  her 
eyes  to  his  and  said:  "  Oh  no,  father.  I  should  like  to  say 
good-bye  to  him  before  he  goes.  Grace  told  me  he  was 
coming." 

He  said  no  more,  but  was  as  puzzled  as  ever,  and  in- 
clined to  sadness,  because  his  girl  was  now  sad,  or  at 
least  subdued,  where  she  had  been  so  gay  and  bright. 
He  made  up  his  mind  to  get  Meadshire  by  himself,  if  he 
could,  and  get  out  of  him  what  it  was  that  had  happened; 
to  ask  him,  if  he  had  now  given  up  the  ideas  he  had 
formed,  whether  he  could  not  do  something,  or  say  some- 
thing, to  release  the  burden  from  Katie's  mind,  and  give 
him  back  his  daughter  restored  to  her  former  self. 

It  was  not  unreasonable,  considering  what  had  passed 


466 

between  them,  and  the  anger  in  which  they  had  parted, 
that  he  should  ask  Meadshire  for  a  few  words  before  he 
received  him  again  amongst  his  family.  The  interview 
was  short.  Meadshire  came  in  looking  grave,  but  already 
more  recovered  in  health  and  bearing  than  he  had  been 
on  his  last  hurried  visit  to  Kemsale.  "  This  will  very 
likely  be  the  last  time  we  shall  meet,"  he  said,  as  he  shook 
hands.  "  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  I  bear  you  no  grudge 
now  for  what  happened  the  last  time  we  met.  You  were 
right,  in  the  main.  Where  you  were  wrong  doesn't  mat- 
ter now.  Let's  forget  about  it  and  part  friends." 

"  Oh,  don't  speak  as  if  you  weren't  coming  back,"  said 
Armitage  Brown.  "  We  shall  hope  to  see  every  one  back 
before  many  months  are  past.  And  I  want  you  to  tell 
me,  before  we  forget  it,  as  you  say,  where  I  was  wrong 
in  what  I  said  to  you." 

"  I've  a  feeling  that  I  shan't  come  back,"  said  Mead- 
shire. "  I'm  not  sure  that  I  want  to.  I've  made  a  hideous 
mess  of  my  life,  and  it's  past  mending  now.  If  it's  ended 
while  I'm  doing  something  at  last  that's  worth  doing, 
nobody  need  be  sorry  for  me.  Well,  as  you've  asked  me, 
I'll  tell  you  that  it  might  have  been  mended  last  winter. 
That  dear  good  little  girl  would  have  kept  me  straight. 
I  should  have  been  so  proud  of  her  trust  in  me  that  I 
don't  believe  any  temptation  that  might  have  come  would 
have  been  strong  enough  to  break  me  down,  or  to  break 
us  down  together.  I  don't  think  she'd  have  suffered  for 
it  either;  there  would  have  been  a  good  deal  more  to 
bind  us  together  than  with  most.  I'd  stood  out  against  it; 
I'd  thought  it  wasn't  fair  on  her.  But  we  had  a  conver- 
sation together,  when  I  was  just  getting  over  a  very  bad 
time,  thanks  to  her  influence  over  me,  that  took  me  out 
of  myself.  I  felt  then  that  I  could  get  the  better  of 
myself  with  her  to  help  me,  and  that  I  shouldn't  be  taking 


FAREWELLS  467 

everything  from  her  and  giving  nothing;  and  I  knew  the 
way  in  which  she  looked  at  it,  too.  We  had  come  together 
on  higher  grounds  than  a  man  and  a  woman  do  where 
there's  no  suffering  and  no  repentance  between  them.  So 
you  see,  when  I  was  tackled  by  you  about  wanting  that 
brave  good  healing  little  soul  for  the  sake  of  your  money, 
it  was  as  much  of  a  shock  to  me  as  if  I'd  never  thought 
about  money  in  my  life.  I  hadn't  thought  about  it  in 
connection  with  Katie,  not  once,  believe  me  or  not  as 
you  please.  I  believe  I  said  some  rude  things  about  your 
damned  money;  but  you  must  balance  them  against  the 
things  you  said  to  me.  I  suppose  you  can't  help  your 
money  colouring  everything  you  have  to  do  with,  and  yon 
couldn't  be  expected  to  see  what  an  outrage  it  was  to 
bring  it  up  against  me  in  the  frame  of  mind.  I  came  to 
you  in." 

Armitage  Brown  let  most  of  this  pass,  but  he  looked 
very  serious.  "I'm  willing  to  admit  that  I  misunderstood 
the  situation  to  some  extent,"  he  said.  "  Of  course  I 
completely  withdraw  all  I  said  about  money;  I've  come 
to  see  that  that  wasn't  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Still  I  can't 
regret — especially  after  what  has  happened  since — that  I 
refused  your  offer  for  my  girl.  I  wanted  to  ask  you 
now,  before  we  spend  our  last  evening  all  together,  if  you 
can't  do  something  to  put  things  right  for  us  all.  You 
said,  in  your  letter  to  Lady  Grace,  that  you  had  given 

"  Oh  yes,"  Meadshire  interrupted  him,  not  altogether 
without  impatience.  "  You  won't  be  bothered  with  me 
again.  Whatever  I  might  have  been — whatever  she  might 
have  made  of  me — eight  or  nine  months  ago,  I've  put  it 
out  of  my  power  to  be  anything  to  her  now.  Poor  little 
soul!  She  was  ready  to  do  the  biggest  thing  n  woman 
could  do— save  a  man  from  himself,  and  I  think  she'd 


468  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

have  done  it.  It's  too  late  now — for  her.  But  there's 
another  factor  that  has  come  in  since.  Lots  of  us  fellows 
who  can't  do  anything  for  ourselves  can  do  something  for 
our  country.  I've  got  another  chance,  thank  God.  I 
should  like  to  say  something  to  her  about  that.  I'll  try 
and  put  her  right  with  herself,  if  I  get  the  opportunity 
before  I  go  off.  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  my  saying 
anything  to  her  you  wouldn't  want  to  have  said." 

"  I'm  not,"  said  Armitage  Brown  stoutly.  "  I've  mis- 
understood you  in  some  things.  You're  a  better  man 
than  I  thought.  Still,  I  can't  regret  refusing  you  my 
daughter,  though  I'm  sorry  I  used  the  rough  way  I  did." 

"  We  were  both  of  us  pretty  rough,"  said  Meadshire, 
with  a  smile.  "  I  hadn't  meant  to  say  what  I  have  to 
you,  but  I'm  not  sorry  it  has  been  said.  We  misunder- 
stood each  other  before,  and  made  friends  to  some  extent 
after  it.  I  hope  we  can  part  friends  now.  You've  taken 
my  place  here;  you'll  fill  it  better  than  I  did.  You've 
done  much  better  than  I  did  already,  and  you'll  do  better 
yet.  The  old  blood  is  worn  out.  It's  just  as  well  that  it 
shouldn't  be  continued.  I've  come  to  see  that.  But  you've 
got  something  to  see  too,  Brown.  You  can't  replace  blood 
by  money.  I  believe  you're  beginning  to  see  it;  and  your 
son  saw  it  long  ago.  Well  I'm  not  the  fellow  to  preach 
to  you,  but  I'm  glad  we're  going  to  part  friends." 

The  four  of  them  walked  up  the  long  east  drive  under 
the  moon,  Grace  and  Alfred  in  front,  Katie  and  Mead- 
shire  far  enough  behind  to  be  out  of  hearing. 

Not  a  word  was  said  between  Meadshire  and  Katie  as 
to  what  had  happened  when  they  had  last  met,  and  she 
knew  that  not  a  word  would  be  said.  And  yet  she  was 
quieter  in  spirit,  happier  almost,  than  she  had  been  at 
any  time  during  the  past  nine  months.  He  was  talking 
to  her  as  he  had  never  talked  before,  not  even  on  that 


FAREWELLS  469 

winter  afternoon  when  they  had  both  been  so  much  moved 
out  of  themselves. 

"  There  were  older  men  than  I,"  he  was  saying,  "  who 
had  gone  back  to  their  regiments,  and  they'd  bee»  glad 
to  have  them.  They  wouldn't  look  at  me.  Oh,  then  the 
iron  entered  my  soul.  What  good  was  I  in  the  world,  if 
I  couldn't  do  that?  I  went  through  black  days  and  nights. 
The  devil  that's  ridden  me  ever  since  I  was  a  boy  took 
hold  of  me,  though  I'd  been  giving  him  rein  for  months 
past  and  thought  I'd  worn  him  out.  I  wouldn't  give  way 
to  him,  though.  I  felt  if  I  did  I  should  be  damned  and 
lost  to  all  eternity.  Then  I  got  my  chance — my  last 
chance,  and  the  devil  slunk  away.  I  don't  believe  he'll 
worry  me  again  now  till  I've  done  what's  laid  down  for 
me  to  do." 

"  I  shall  be  thinking  of  you  always,  out  there,"  she 
said,  in  her  young  clear  voice,  which  never  hesitated  to 
say  what  was  in  her  mind.  "  I  shall  be  full  of  fear — a 
woman  can't  help  that  for  those  she  loves — but  I  shall 
be  full  of  pride,  too.  I  suppose  I  shan't  be  happy  again 
till  it's  all  over;  but  I  shan't  be  unhappy  in  the  way 
that  I  have  been." 

"  It  is  I  who  have  made  you  unhappy,  my  dear. 
I  have  made  every  one  unhappy  who  has  ever  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  me.  I've  had  everything  given  to  me 
that  a  man  could  have  had,  and  I  have  thrown  it  all 
away." 

"  No,  you  have  kept  the  best.  Those  who  have  lov.-d 
you  have  loved  you  for  that.  And  now  there  will  !>•• 
nothing  but  the  best  to  think  of.  All  the  rest  is  blotted 
out.  It  wasn't  really  you.  It  will  never  again  come  into 
my  thoughts  about  you." 

"  God  bless  you,  little  Katie,"  he  said.  "  I  shan't  fail 
you  in  your  trust  again." 


470  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

Alfred  was  also  going  off  the  next  morning.  His  mood 
was  light-hearted,  almost  merry.  It  was  as  if  a  burden 
had  been  removed  from  him,  and  he  had  at  last  found  his 
true  vocation.  It  jarred  somewhat  upon  Grace,  who  was 
weighed  down  with  fears  and  sorrow. 

"  I  can't  look  upon  the  dreadful  war  as  a  chance  for 
adventure,"  she  said  at  last.  "  It  is  too  much  to  hope 
that  all  of  those  whom  one  knows,  and  loves,  will  come 
back  from  it.  Some  have  been  killed  already,  though 
none  as  yet  who  are  nearest." 

He  became  graver  at  once.  His  feelings  towards  this 
gentle  creature,  older  than  himself,  still  held  some  ten- 
derness, though  the  fact  that  he  did  not  feel  quite  at 
his  ease  in  her  presence,  and  talked  more  lightly  on 
that  account,  proved  that  he  had  awakened  from  his 
dream. 

"  I  don't  look  upon  it  only  as  an  adventure,"  he  said. 
"  It  is  a  very  serious  business,  for  all  of  us — much  more 
serious  than  anything  that  has  ever  come  into  my  life 
before.  But  it  cuts  so  many  knots  for  me.  I  shall  be 
doing  something  to  make  myself  useful  at  last." 

Her  thoughts  were  upon  the  two  behind  them;  and 
she  felt  some  impatience  with  him  for  returning  to  a 
subject  which  they  had  discussed  before,  but  which  seemed 
to  have  little  importance  in  these  heavy  days. 

"  There  is  no  one  who  could  have  better  chances  of 
making  himself  useful  than  you,"  she  said.  "  You  can't 
cut  knots  by  running  away  from  them.  Oh,  but  I  don't 
mean  that.  You  are  right  to  go,  of  course,  but  you  will 
come  back.  Pray  God  you  will  come  back,  and  your 
place  will  be  here  for  the  rest  of  your  life." 

"  When  I  come  back,"  he  said,  "if  I  do,  everything 
will  be  different.  I  feel  that,  though  I  don't  exactly  know 
how.  That  is  why  I'm  not  worrying  about  the  future.  I 


FAREWELLS  47 ! 

have  something  to  do  now,  and  all  I  have  to  think  of  is 
how  to  do  it  as  well  as  ever  I  can." 

She  thought  she  had  spoken  with  undue  asperity,  and 
said  gently:  "I'm  sure  that  is  the  way  to  think  of  it. 
The  call  has  come  for  all  of  us,  and  we  need  not  think 
of  what  will  be  after  it.  And,  of  course,  it  is  right  for 
those  who  are  young,  and  are  going  to  face  hardship 
and  danger,  to  keep  a  brave  heart.  You  will  know  that 
those  who  are  left  behind  are  thinking  of  you  all  the 
time." 

"  I  shall  like  to  feel  that  you  are  thinking  of  me,"  he 
said  simply.  "  I  shall  think  of  you  too,  very  often.  I 
have  always  thought  of  you  whenever  I  have  thought  of 
Kemsale.  You  have  seemed  to  belong  to  it,  and  we  never 
have.  But  even  that  is  altering  now.  We  could  never 
be  what  you  have  been  here,  however  much  we  tried. 
That  is  why  I  have  so  kicked  against  being  pitchforked 
into  a  position  I  could  never  fill.  But  nothing  will  be 
quite  like  it  was  when  the  war  is  over.  The  changes 
have  begun  already,  and  they  will  grow  bigger.  That's 
what  I  feel  about  it,  though  I  don't  know  what  they  will 
reach  to.  But  one  can  leave  all  that  for  the  present. 
There  are  things  to  be  done.  When  I  do  come  back,  if 
I  do,  there'll  be  other  things  to  be  done,  but  they  -won't 
be  the  same  as  before.  When  the  time  comes  I'll  try 
to  do  them,  too." 

They  came  to  the  great  house,  with  all  its  uncurtained 
windows  staring  nakedly.  Old  Mrs.  Parmiter  let  them 
in,  and  showed  them  over  some  of  the  rooms,  swept  clear 
of  trappings  and  furniture,  ranked  with  white  beds  in 
unending  rows,  all  waiting  clean  and  bare  and  sad  for 
what  should  come  in  the  near  future.  Never  had  Kem- 
sale looked  like  that  before,  never  had  its  innumerable 
rooms  been  so  full  of  meaning.  The  graciousness  of  the 


472  THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH 

old  life  and  the  empty  show  of  the  new  had  alike  been 
swept  away.  It  was  shortly  to  become  a  home  of  pain, 
but  a  home  of  healing  too.  What  it  should  become  here- 
after could  not  yet  be  foreseen,  but  it  would  never  again 
be  quite  what  it  had  been  before. 


THE   END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


Form  I,-9 
JOm-1,  -41(1122) 


,     t-  ••     .       -'          -  f 

AT 

LOS  ANGLES 
LIBRARY 


UC SOUTHERN  REGION*!.  UBRAflVfWUTY 


A     000557184     9 


